Both Sides Now
by Firefall Varuna
Summary: Silvermoon's fateful decision to join the Horde had far reaching ramifications. A young High Elf paladin, Una Whitebrook, finds herself on a path she was never prepared to follow: The Argent Dawn. Warnings: Adult Situations, Erotica, Violence
1. Chapter 1: Spring

**Chapter 1 - Spring**

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**Elwynn Forest was alive with color as its citizens crowded both sides of the road. A warm, spring breeze tumbled delicate tufts of cotton ester fluff and the white rose petals being thrown by the crowd as the parade passed. It lifted heady aromas of celebration food and sweet fragrances of spring flowers. Fluttering garlands, wreaths, and ribbons in spring colors hung from nearly every available space and from brightly decorated horses and carts. Above it all, minstrels played cheerful, upbeat melodies that carried over the treetops and deep into the forest.

It was a celebration of spring and of new allies. Today, the Draenei were officially joining the Alliance. The devout followers of the Light brought strength to the Alliance as they prepared a campaign against the Burning Legion.

Color and life and light were everywhere. The day was warm and only the faintest wisps of clouds marred the endless blue of the spring sky.

Una Whitebrook scowled down at the horse she had borrowed for the event as it hesitated once again, as if it were wondering what else it could do to try to unseat her. It seemed to sense she was paying attention and returned to behaving properly. The young, High Elf woman had grown up around horses all her life. She had learned to ride on her mother's gentle gray mare and her father's powerful Quel'dorei stallion. This animal was stubborn to a fault, much like the Dwarven paladin she had borrowed him from.

Una braced herself in the stirrups and carefully rose up off the saddle to gaze across the crowd as they entered the Valley of Heroes. From her position in the parade procession, she had already spied her parents and her neighbors – the Balhatchets, the Coopers, and the Castines. Hiram Stonemace, her mentor and Goldshire's favorite drunken paladin would be in the cathedral already in a rare show of soberness.

However, Una was hoping most to spot her cousin, Anaru. He was one of the few remaining High Elf paladins in existence including Anaru's brothers and herself. Anaru had been both her idol and a distant confidant throughout her training. In his last letter, he had been overjoyed and promised to be here.

She scanned the milling, cheering crowds for him. She hadn't seen her elder cousin ever since he had returned to Silvermoon after the Third War. In those tumultuous days, he had been like a brother to her. He had cared for her during those times when her parents had been called to the front lines and been her rock when so many of their family died to either the Scourge or the Burning Legion. She remembered him as a gangly youth and had difficulty picturing him as he probably was today. Back then, he had been all arms, legs, and much too big ears under a perpetually unruly mop of short, brown hair.

Her horse shied abruptly, set her off balance, and she sat back down hard in the saddle. The animal backed up until it had stepped out of the procession of paladins. The paladins behind her jostled to a stop as she struggled to bring him back into line. The animal only grunted and went the opposite way she wanted, backing into the paladins following her and she grimaced as protests erupted. Una growled down at the gelding and finally muscled him into compliance.

A blush spread across her freckled cheeks and the young High Elf tried to focus on the space between the horse's ears. Una took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm herself.

The sun was warm upon her blue and silver armor and even warmer on the areas covered up by her dark blue tabard decorated with the Crest of the Alliance. She would be thankful to reach the cathedral district and under the more mature trees.

As she passed Trias Cheese Shop, an earsplitting whistle brought her attention back to the crowd. Her heart skipped a beat and she rose up from the saddle once again to scan the crowd. From the tone, it could only be Anaru or her Uncle. The whistle sounded again and a distant shout of "Una!" reached her ears over the din. Una swung her head to the left and caught the briefest glimpse of a familiar looking, muscular, brown haired High Elf waving frantically before he vanished again in the crowd.

The horse seized the opportunity to buck suddenly, flinging her into his neck. She managed to cling tenaciously to the saddle and reined him back in. She took a deep breath and rubbed her face with one hand, wincing from the pain in her chest. The young woman looked hopefully back where her cousin had been, but he was no where to be seen.

One of the paladins behind her shouted, "You outta tell Hiram that thing is a menace!"

"I plan to!" She replied tersely.

Much to her relief, the remainder of the parade blessedly went without incident. The royal box was situated under the tree in the market district; and, the paladins saluted King Anduin Wrynn, Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, and Lady Katrana Prestor. While the parade itself concluded there, the paladins continued onward to Cathedral Square.

Once there, she gratefully dismounted and allowed one of the stable masters to take the horse from her. They way she ached, she would be happy to never have to ride Hiram's horse ever again.

As they rehearsed, the paladins lined up in two columns on the steps of the cathedral to create a tunnel. She took up her spot in line, opposite her friend and neighbor, William Balhatchet. It was difficult not to crane her neck to search for these Draenei everyone was talking about. However, she was supposed to be ready to stand at attention soon. The Royal and Draenei procession would assemble at the palace and then proceed to the Cathedral of Light.

"What d'you think they're like?" Will was saying to his neighbor, another Dwarf. "These Draenei? They're supposed to be really something!"

"Dunno. Guess we'll be findin' out." The Dwarf replied.

Una bounced a little to shake some of the soreness out of her muscles. "Has anyone seen any?"

"I think Shane did, but he's already inside." Will replied, glancing at the Dwarf for confirmation and received a nod.

She saw a few senior paladins duck into the cathedral and citizens were starting to filter into the square. She anticipated any moment now they would be called to attention.

Near the orphanage, she spotted her cousin lift a little boy up into the branches of one of the small trees to join his friends. Her vision was obscured a moment and then she saw him stand up with another child seated upon his shoulders.

Will noted the direction of her gaze and turned around. The blond paladin grinned broadly and called as loudly as he dared as he waved, "Anaru!"

"Attention!" Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker barked. Una started and snapped to attention.

She could hear the sounds of the procession drawing closer. Will quickly flashed her one of his classic, broad smiles before his face became stoic once more.

A murmur rippled across the crowd as the Draenei entered the square. The reason became apparent soon as she saw the large, strange beasts and then the men and women riding them.

Impossibly tall, blue-skinned, with muscular tails; some with horns and odd tentacles erupting from their necks and faces. Their hooves rang sharply against the pavers of the square.

Una was acutely grateful she wasn't the only paladin openly staring at them. They managed to stay at attention, but it was difficult as they were being inspected themselves. The newcomers looked overwhelmed. They were trying to look everywhere at once, their glowing eyes wide.

A tall male paused in front of her and looked her up and down. His lip visibly curled in disgust as he looked down on her. For a moment, she thought he might say something, but instead he sneered once more and moved on.

Will looked at her quizzically and mouthed, "What the hell?"

She scrunched her face up and gave a minute shrug. The last of the Draenei passed and Lord Shadowbreaker gave the signal for the paladins to pivot sharply to face the cathedral and march inside.

From the back of the cathedral, she could barely follow the proceedings. The pews were filled with nobles, various dignitaries, and high ranking members of the clergy. The Draenei were kneeling before the leaders of the Alliance, but she was too far away to hear what was being said. At Lord Shadowbreaker's command, they allowed the Light to flow through them and towards the Draenei assembly.

Una gasped and heard a collective intake of breaths ripple across the Cathedral as each of the Draenei did the same, a strange symbol forming over their foreheads.

Afterwards, Una raced down the stairs in search of her cousin. He wasn't hard to find. He was seated on a bench in front of the orphanage, surrounded by a gaggle of children who were bombarding him with questions. He appeared to be patiently answering each of them as best he could. However, she could tell by the look on his face that he had just about had enough.

She waved until she caught his eye and he excused himself. He covered the distance between them in long, confident strides. Una flung her arms around him, hugging him tight. To her delight, she was rewarded by a laugh and a ferocious bear hug.

"Look at you!" He cried in joy when they broke the embrace. He held her hand and took a half step backwards as he sized her up. "Just look at you!"

He had changed himself. Anaru was no longer a gangly adolescent, but a mature, powerful paladin. His cleanly shaven, square face was that of a grown man, though a scattering of freckles still covered his cheekbones. His shoulders had broadened and powerful muscles stirred under his simple white shirt. His chestnut hair had grown darker and longer and he had pulled it back in a low ponytail. However, he had an odd tension in his voice and muscles that she couldn't quite identify.

And then she was being pulled back in for another fierce hug.

He was grinning from ear to ear when he let her go, "I am so proud of you. I'm sure Grandfather would be too."

Una nodded, smiled softly, and felt her eyes dampen slightly.

Together, they walked to the stables to retrieve his horse. To Una's surprise, it wasn't her grandfather's great, white warhorse, Ethos, but a glossy, black stallion.

"What happened to Ethos?" She asked in alarm.

"Oh, he's fine." Anaru explained, "He was getting old, so I retired him. The Blood Knights prefer black or dark brown chargers anyway... so does the Argent Dawn." He affectionately patted the stallion on the neck, "He comes from a solid blood line, so I put him to stud. Jet here was the first foal."

Una stroked the animal's velvety muzzle as Anaru saddled and bridled him, more than a little jealous. "He's gorgeous."

"He was worth the wait, I'll tell you that." Anaru stated proudly. He swung up into the saddle and helped her to mount behind him. He clicked his tongue against his teeth a couple times and Jet began to walk.

"Are you a member of the Argent Dawn now?" She asked him curiously.

"I'm a Commander," he replied, pressing his left knee into the animal's side to turn him onto the bridge. "Someone needs to keep the Scourge in check."

"So where are you most of the time?"

"Eh… I suppose I've been around the Dark Portal the most lately." He said after a moment, "I've been in Silithus, Tanaris, Winterspring, the Plaguelands, and Deadwind Pass too. I'm wherever disturbances of the demonic or undead variety appear."

She frowned deeply, "Are they sending you to Outland then?"

He shook his head, "No, there's enough domestic trouble to keep us occupied here on Azeroth."

"What exactly do you do?" They were passing through the busy market district now, pushing slowly through the throngs of festival goers and merchants.

"I command a mobile assault team – Ma'am." Anaru drew Jet to a halt to allow a mother with small children to pass. He nodded and touched the fingers of his right hand to his forehead in respect. When they had passed, he continued, "We basically go wherever the threat is the highest, take it out, and move on. Our mission at the Dark Portal is the longest we've ever held one position, aside from the Plaguelands. Darnassus is our headquarters, but it's not unusual to receive new orders before we've completed the current mission. But enough about me… what are your plans, Una?"

Una frowned and tightened her grip around his waist as he veered quickly around a heavily leaden cart. "I don't know, I hadn't thought much about it."

Her cousin chuckled, "A word of advice if I may: Find and join a cause you believe in. We paladins are too powerful and tend to wind up political tools – pawns – if we're not careful."

Una nodded. "Lord Uther must roll in his grave at the thought of that." As they passed through the gates, the crowds thinned and he kneed Jet into a trot.

"I doubt that. I'm sure he knew what would become of paladins. That was the same piece of advice Grandfather gave me when I was his squire." The road was open now, only a few sparse travelers headed into the city so he kicked Jet into a canter.

Una let loose a whoop of joy and wrapped her arms tightly around Anaru's waist. With a wolfish grin, he leaned forward and kicked the horse into a full gallop. It was as if they were flying through the trees rather than running. The wind whipped their hair and tugged at their clothes. He guided Jet south, towards the Castine's fence line. The horse neatly cleared it and they galloped further south to jump the opposite fence line.

Her parent's property was rapidly approaching now and she could see her family's small corral. Within, she could see three horses rather than just her parent's two horses.

Anaru slowed Jet, growled in frustration, and whined, "Uncle…! He was supposed to be in the _barn_!"

Soon, they were trotting alongside the fence. Una stared at the flea-bitten gray stallion with a white mane and tail placidly eating grass on the opposite side of the pasture. He had the elegant lines of a Quel'dorei horse, but flea-bitten gray wasn't one of the common colors.

"Anaru?" She asked, puzzled.

"Well… surprise?" He responded in chagrin.

Una inhaled sharply and slid off while they were still moving. She stumbled, climbed the fence, and jogged over to the animal. The horses lifted their heads to watch her.

The stallion whinnied softly as she approached. She held out her hand to him in wonder. The animal sniffed her fingers, his breath warm against her skin. She stroked his soft, warm muzzle and then caressed the animal's dish-shaped cheek.

Anaru had tied Jet off and climbed the fence himself. "He's another Ethos sired. His color wasn't desirable in Silvermoon; but, he's a fine horse. I thought you might like him."

The young paladin cried in joy and flung her arms around her cousin.

"Don't cry! Don't cry!" Anaru laughed as she sobbed elatedly into his chest. He patted her back and searched his pockets for a handkerchief. He finally located it and gave it to her. Una dabbed her eyes and then spun back around to embrace the horse around the neck.

The elder paladin chuckled and stepped over to pat the horse's back. "He's a fully trained charger. Not knowing your plans, I made sure he was exposed to the undead in the Dead Scar to desensitize him some."

Her parents were standing on the threshold of their house now. Una did her best to ignore the sour looks on their faces.

"What are you going to call him?" Anaru asked.

Una pursed her lips and thought for a few minutes. Most paladins in Lordaeron named their horses after admirable traits. Her Grandfather, a lover of civil debates and argumentative speeches, had named his horse Ethos… a word from Old Common meaning "ideals." Anaru had named his after a precious stone. She stroked the horse's flecked coat and then ran her fingers through the pale mane. The vestige of a memory rose quietly to the surface of her mind of a peaceful summer night in Lordaeron and her grandfather's strong arms cradling her while whispering stories of the Light and its champions.

"Vesper." Una said solemnly.

"Excellent name." Anaru nodded his approval. Both of them could feel the weight of her parents' gaze now. "We can go for a ride later. Come on…"

With difficulty, she left the corral and climbed the fence. Her parents' body language clearly declared their displeasure. Anaru transformed before her eyes, from her warm, loving cousin to a soldier. He stood a little straighter, his step confident, and his emerald eyes steely.

"Aunt Tyalaria. Uncle Ferran." Anaru said and once more touched the fingers of his right hand to his forehead in respect. "It's good to see both of you again."

"Anaru." Her father said callously. Her mother was noticeably silent.

"I hope you both have been well. I missed you." Anaru said, somehow making his voice crisp yet pleasant.

Her father nodded frostily.

Una shifted awkwardly. Anaru and his brothers had lived with them during the Third War. His brothers had been sent the moment Arthas' Scourge had entered Eversong Woods and then later that evening, a bedraggled and distraught Anaru had simply appeared in the Mage Quarter. However, now her parents were acting the same way they did towards Anaru's father and late mother. She had no idea what had gone on between their parents, but the rift had been ever deepening for as long as she could remember.

"Won't you come in?" Her mother finally said with difficulty. The words sounded forced.

"Of course." Anaru said politely.

Una followed her father in, her heart pounding in her chest. She was waiting for accusations to fly, vicious barbs, and an argument to start.

"How is your father? Brothers?" Her father asked.

Anaru nodded his face uncharacteristically stoic, "I have not had the opportunity to speak with them. I have been stationed at the Dark Portal for weeks and I was in Dead Wind Pass before that. As of our last correspondence, all was well."

She helped her mother set the table. A venison stew had been cooking over the fire since dawn and now it was thick and smelled delicious. Una tried to ignore the vague nausea settling in to her stomach despite the enticing aroma.

"You a member of those… Blood Knights?"

"Technically, yes. But I serve as a Commander for the Argent Dawn."

Una set a bowl of stew before her father and then her cousin. Her mouth was dry and her anxiety was only increasing.

"What exactly do they do?" Her father asked. She knew her father knew and she couldn't help but wonder where this was going.

"Thank you, Una." Anaru met her gaze and she marveled at how calm his eyes were. "We protect Azeroth from those that seek its destruction, including threats from the Burning Legion and Scourge."

Uneasy silence overtook the room. Una stared at the suddenly unappetizing stew before her.

"I suppose you see plenty of action then." Her father finally said.

Anaru actually laughed, "Oh yes, quite a bit, in fact. However, I'm proud to say I've only lost one man."

Una pleaded silently for Anaru to be careful. She couldn't say what her father was planning. However, nothing happened. The tension from her parents was thickening, but Anaru seemed oblivious. The rest of the dinner was conducted in silence.

"If you aren't careful, you'll end up like your mother." Her father finally said as he finished his stew. There was malice in his tone. Una shut her eyes and laid her spoon down.

Her Aunt Iloria had stood with Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner and the other rangers against Arthas and the Scourge. She was believed to have died defending the first Elf Gate, but no one knew for sure.

She looked to her cousin. She expected to see anger, pain, but the only expression that crossed his face was a bemused pity.

"If I should die, I will assure you it will not have been in vain." Anaru said gently, as though he were talking to the children outside the cathedral. "I won't argue this with you. I've made my peace; I hope you will do the same." With this, he stood and once again touched his fingers to his forehead. "Thank you, Aunt Tyalaria. The stew was delicious. Uncle Ferran, Una."

He inclined his head to her father and then to Una and walked out the door.

Una glared wrathfully at her parents and ran out after him.

Anaru must have guessed what she was going to do; he was hefting a spare saddle and bridle onto the fence. They remained silent as they saddled and bridled Vesper and within moments they were galloping through Elwynn Forest.

Una found the rhythmic gallop cleansing and almost cathartic. Vesper and Jet were equally matched, Anaru wasn't holding him back either. His face was stony; Una could only guess what was going on in his head.

At last he motioned in the direction of the bank of the Nazferiti River and veered off towards it as he slowed Jet. Una followed suit and was delighted as Vesper immediately responded.

Anaru dismounted and turned briefly in an aimless circle. With a startling suddenness, he punched a nearby tree. He covered his face with his palm and took several deep breaths. Una wrung her hands, watching him go through his emotions.

"I'm sorry." His voice trembled as he spoke. "I shouldn't have tried to visit them." He sat down under the tree and leaned against the trunk.

"I love them, but I'm almost out of patience too." Una acknowledged. "They've never been happy with my decision to become a paladin either. Papa told me once I'm becoming too much like Grandfather..."

He nodded but said nothing. Una sat down and leaned against the trunk next to him. Their horses contentedly grazed on the tender shoots of fresh, green grass. A calm silence fell over them as they listened to the sounds of the forest.

Abruptly Anaru stood, went to his horse, and retrieved something from his saddlebags. He returned, handed a small box to her, and sat down once again.

Una opened the box and discovered an aged, folded parchment and another smaller box, covered in black velvet. She unfolded the piece of parchment and felt her heart skip a beat. It was a letter, penned in her grandfather's elegant hand. The date was just days before he was killed by the Scourge while trying to hold the last line of defense before the Sunwell.

"I… didn't think I could give you that in front of Uncle Ferran." Anaru said softly. Whatever had been bothering him before was now at the forefront of his thoughts. "I'm so glad you followed me…"

Una nodded numbly and folded the letter. She left it unread and promised herself that she would read it later in private.

"Back when all the Blood Knights regained their powers by absorbing Light from… I guess we were drunk…"

"Drunken paladins," Una interrupted to half-heartedly muse, "There's a punch-line in that somewhere."

"Drunk on power." Anaru continued, grinning half-heartedly at her joke. "So a bunch of us got climbing gear and ventured into the ruins of Silvermoon. Before I knew it, we were near Grandfather's study. So I broke in… He had gifts already made for you and me, and letters."

He lifted a delicate chain from under his shirt and drew forth a truesilver pendant in the shape of a bird, crown, and clenched fist. He then put it back inside his shirt and patted it gently.

She opened the tiny, velvet box. Inside was a truesilver pendant in the shape of the Symbol of the Holy Light. Una swallowed, removed it from the box, and slipped the chain over her head. She fidgeted with it a moment, lost in her thoughts.

"… Did you ever lose your abilities?" She ventured awkwardly.

Anaru closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. But I probably would have eventually. Most of the others had."

"What about Welan and Kaleril?"

Anaru gave a caustic laugh she had never heard him make before, "They aren't real paladins…" He seemed to realize himself and attempted another angle, "They weren't paladins… before…" He sighed and his voice trailed off as he gave up all pretenses. "We don't get along. I love them, but I think there's too many years between myself and Welan… even more for Kaleril. We don't have much in common. I was already _in the field_ with Grandfather when Kaleril was born. They didn't have to _work_ for their power, they _took_ it."

Una stared at the elder paladin, unsure of what to say. She had never seen Anaru flustered this badly. She knew he didn't like his brothers, she didn't like them either. Una supposed there was too many years between her younger cousins and herself as well. They were shallow and spoiled, in her opinion. However, she knew enough about Anaru to know that this subject shouldn't leave him so upset.

"Anaru… what's bothering you? Really." She finally said.

Anaru looked vaguely ill. He seemed intent on the grass and dirt beside him, digging a shallow hole with his fingers, shredding grass as he went. He suddenly seemed to brace himself and said, "I just found out myself… Look, Una… you're going to hear _things_ over the coming days. Most of it will be true."

"What?" She demanded in a shrill tone. A bad feeling had settled into the pit of her stomach, a distinct feeling of dread that was growing.

"The least of it…?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Silvermoon has joined the Horde."

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**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading my first fanfiction in six years. It's been a long time and it's felt wonderful to write for fun once again. Feedback of any kind would be greatly appreciated as I get used to this process again.

I'd also like to thank my good friend, KooriRoninHeart, for being my sounding board, beta reader, and such a wonderful friend for all these years. Love you, Sis!

Additional thanks go out to Joyleaf, Daishi, and Nehasane for also reading this for me. You guys are awesome!


	2. Chapter 2: Fallout

**Chapter 2 – Fallout**

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**Stormwind quickly became a difficult place for Una.

Not only had Silvermoon defected to the Horde, but news of more treachery was supplied by the Draenei. Blood Elves were responsible for transgressions from the Draenei crashing into Azeroth to the capture of a Naaru – apparently a physical manifestation of the Light itself. They were leeching Light from it to create a new brand of paladins. It shed a stark light on her cousin's hesitant revelation.

In light of the news, ugly gossip started circulating on the streets.

One rumor suggested they had enhanced the natural High Elven ability to tap into other's magical energy. It claimed they were now vampires of a sort, sucking magic from anyone and anything magical to sate their wicked addiction. Another rumor had them in a pact with The Burning Legion, who satiated their addiction in return for allegiance to the demons. Worse yet, was the alleged side effects which ranged from plausible to completely asinine.

One particularly aggravating rumor was that all Blood Elves now had green eyes. Unfortunately for her, green eyes ran prominently in the Whitebrook family and she was no exception. The streets she had known all her life suddenly harbored suspicious stares and sometimes even outright accusations.

High Elves across the Kingdom and the Alliance found themselves in a desperate battle to prove their loyalty and distance themselves from the traitors of Silvermoon.

The young paladin was careful not to mention her cousin; her parents strongly believed he had joined with the rest of Silvermoon's elves. However, Una had her doubts. He was a ranking officer in a neutral organization and the news had plainly left him as shocked as herself. She chose not to disclose her thoughts. Her relationship with her parents had been tested repeatedly since she had entered into her training as a paladin and again when she came of age.

Much to her regret, now it was being taxed to the brink.

Una found her mother in her quarters in the city barracks one day, going through her clothes. Anything Una owned that came in shades of red, orange, or yellow was being pulled from her wardrobe. She stood wide-eyed at the door for several moments, not quite comprehending what she was seeing. The young woman wasn't even sure how her mother had gained entry to her quarters in the first place.

"Oh! Hello, Dear." The ranger said cheerfully. "I went shopping for you."

The young woman's brain finally wrapped around what she was seeing as the blonde ranger removed a few more articles.

"Mother! What the fuck are you _doing_?" Una shrieked and snatched up the scarlet gown she had purchased for Winterveil later that year from the discard pile. Despite ordering it out of season, the dress alone had cost her several weeks' wages as a Stormwind city guard. She didn't have money to replace it, not with so much of her finances going towards medical training.

"Una!" Her mother reprimanded and her blue eyes narrowed angrily. "Haven't we discussed this before? Don't use that language with me!"

"I said: What are you doing?" The paladin's voice raised another octave, no longer attempting to control her shaking hands.

"Replacing your wardrobe! You shouldn't wear these anymore! We don't want people to think we're **sin'dorei**!"

The young woman savagely kicked the shopping bag her mother had brought. The bag flew across the room, scattering clothing items in shades of blue, olive, white, or drab colors.

"Out!" Una screeched. "Get out!" Her mother held up her hands in a placating gesture. The paladin finally seized her mother by the arm, shoved her out the door, and slammed it behind her.

Later she would learn that nearly every other High Elf in the city was changing their wardrobe in a similar fashion, all in an effort to distance themselves further from Blood Elves. While her mother was well intentioned, it felt like yet another line had been crossed.

The subject of addiction was another topic that seemed to come up frequently both with her parents and with the city at large.

The High Elf woman had always loved the food at the Blue Recluse in the Mage Quarter and when she became an adult, she developed a taste for their drinks. Eventually she had to stop going there as well. The rumor that Blood Elves were now magic-sucking vampires had pervaded the Academy and that fear was palpable throughout the Mage Quarter. There were too many young mages who frequented the Blue Recluse who believed she was there to steal their magic to feed her addiction.

The young paladin had honestly never actually thought much about her own magical addiction and the addiction of High Elves in general. It was a nagging pain in the back of her mind she had grown up – and learned to live – with. Frankly, on some level she supposed she was accustomed to feeling bad. The pain blended and vanished under the rigors of her training and later duties.

She would only admit to herself alone that she felt the most alive when she was filled with the power of the Light.

As the desperation of the resident High Elves increased, she started to hear about scams being run in the back alleys and secret corners of Stormwind. She paid little attention at first, but it soon became personal.

While on patrol one day, she had been horrified to see her father leaving the Mage Quarter being led by two young mages. His eyes were bound in gauze and his face was ashen. It was impossible not to note the tinges of blood on the gauze.

Most of her family were or had been rangers and she knew the implications blindness had.

As he recuperated in bed, she learned a Gnome mage had convinced her father he could safely change his eye color… for a price. The magical change was permanent – and quite evidently painful. His eyes were also agonizingly slow to heal and infection started setting in. Una threw herself into the investigation, plumbing deeper into Stormwind's underworld than she had ever cared to do. Despite her exhaustive search, the Gnome was nowhere to be found. In the end, all the young High Elf could do was present the details to her superiors.

Several tense weeks later, the bandages were removed. Much to her family's relief, his eyes were both functional, though a very pale blue instead of their original green. It also wasn't without side effects. He was plagued with ferocious headaches and she watched him struggle to read over the subsequent weeks. His pride kept him from admitting it aloud, but she knew his days as a ranger were over.

It affected her deeply and she ached for her father, but her relationship with her parents continued to decay. She spent more time on her duties and threw herself into her medical studies, even volunteering to guard The Vault. However, when she went off-duty her troubles persisted.

Hiram had found her one evening in one of the less reputable pubs, attempting to drown her sorrows in alcohol. For one so often drunk himself, he scolded her like she was a child again, and sent her to sleep off her drunkenness on a cot in his cellar.

She woke the next morning to the stench of tobacco smoke and an awful hangover. With bleary, watering eyes she looked up through a tangled fall of her own hair. Her mentor was sitting on the steps, smoking his pipe, and contemplating her with sad brown eyes.

"Lass, ya ain't happy here no more. I don' blame ya." He said mournfully. The gray haired paladin handed her a shot glass filled with a sickening, bronze-colored concoction. She could tell instantly it was his hangover remedy. The smell alone could have felled a Kodo, but she pinched her nose shut and tossed it down.

When she finished gagging, the Dwarf had then gone on to list some of the options she had for gracefully leaving the area. When he reached enlisting with the Argent Dawn, her heart had leapt into her throat. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she asked for his help.

Hiram was better connected than she had ever dreamed. In less than twenty-four hours, she arrived in Darnassus.

Despite feeling dazed and more than a little melancholy, Una found Darnassus to be probably the most incredible city she had ever seen. The white marble buildings felt ancient and probably were. Unlike human settlements, Night Elf architecture felt like it belonged where it stood. Elegantly carved wooden buildings stood between the larger stone structures, again feeling perfectly natural. More buildings appeared to have been shaped from massive trees rather than built. Frost and night sabers prowled around the periphery and small glowing spirits drifted on the soft breeze.

Her wonderment made for a good distraction from thinking about everything that had occurred over the previous months as well as the fact that she was in a city, built in a _tree_, which stood only who knew how high.

She guided Vesper along the path into the Craftmen's Terrace as she searched for the Argent Dawn sign among the many shops and trade schools in the area. A heady fragrance of fine leather, wood, and fresh herbs met her ready nose. Carts leaden with freshly smoked meat, bread, and traditional kaldorei cheeses tempted her palate as she passed.

At last she found the building, tied her horse off, and went upstairs.

Dawnwatcher Selgorm looked up from his ledger as an adventurer walked away with a handful of coin. "Hello, Miss. I'm afraid I'm out of tasks and errands for the day but if you return tomorrow…"

"Oh!" Una exclaimed with a slight laugh, "Ah… I'm here to enlist, actually."

The human laughed, chagrinned, and pulled some papers from a stack on a nearby shelf. "I'm sorry. What's your name?"

"Una Whitebrook. I'm a paladin, sir." She handed him letters of recommendation from Hiram and notable members of Stormwind's clergy.

He looked thoughtful a moment as he looked over the letters. "Any relation to Commander Anaru Whitebrook?"

"Yes, sir. He's my first cousin, on my father's side." She replied.

He dipped a quill into a bottle of ink before him and started to fill out the paperwork. Una leaned on the table in an attempt to see what was being written.

He grinned as he reached for a black, leather bound tome embroidered with the emblem of the Argent Dawn on the same shelf he had retrieved the papers from. "I thought so, the resemblance is uncanny. I would have thought you were sibling."

Una blushed and muttered her thanks awkwardly.

Selgorm flipped to the back of the book and then forward until he located the section he wanted. He drew his finger down the page, mouthing the words as he went. He flipped another page and repeated the action. Una realized that it was a list of names.

His finger stopped and he tapped the page several times with his finger. "I see you've done work for us before."

"Yes, a little with my mentor."

He pursed his lips, "More than "a little"…" The man's voice trailed off and then he shut the book with a heavy thump. "Welcome aboard, Private Whitebrook." He signed the papers and handed them to her. "I have a mission I think would be perfect for you. The briefing just started, so I would hurry."

The human stood up and walked her to the balcony. "Head left on the path – look for our standards – you can't miss it. The briefing for your mission will be the first area on your right. Good luck!"

"Thank you, sir." Una saluted him and briskly jogged down the path. She patted Vesper's rump in passing, making a mental note of where she left him.

He was right. Several covered areas and gazebos had been temporarily claimed by the Argent Dawn as several units prepared for missions. Her unit's area had likely been an old Night Elven inn at some time. It was tall, deep, and more protected than the other structures.

She climbed the couple steps up and stopped to survey the men assembled in the room. It was immediately clear she was going to be the only female in this unit. She glanced around; most of the troops were humans, though there was a Dwarf and a Draenei in attendance too. The commanding officer appeared to be a High Elf with long, dark, unbound hair, though she couldn't see his face clearly. It took her a moment for the commander's voice to register and she gasped in surprise.

"… Mission takes us to The Barrens..." Anaru was saying, but his words faltered as her gasp reached him. His emerald eyes widened as he finally realized who she was. "Oh, hell. Excuse me."

Her cousin crossed the room in a few long strides, his face contorted with a mixture of joy and confusion. The troops he had been speaking to turned to face them, murmuring between each other.

Una opened and closed her mouth several times but failed to find her voice.

"Una… Hi! It's good… what the _hell_ are you doing here?" He stumbled over the words in quick succession. "I mean, I'm really happy to see you…" He made an irritated growl in his throat and embraced her in a quick, tight hug.

"Good to see you too… This wasn't what I was expecting…" She stammered as words came to her. She ultimately gave up speaking and thrust the papers out to him. Anaru frowned deeply; he took the paperwork from her hands and began to read.

The seconds seemed to stretch on infinitely and so was her discomfiture.

"When I told you to find a cause you believed in, I didn't mean _mine_!" Anaru said at last without looking up from the papers. He screwed up his face in dismay and ran his right hand through his hair.

"I didn't think they'd put me in your unit!" Una replied testily, "I signed up; they assigned me."

Anaru sighed and gave her papers a final glance, "This should be fun. Alright, take a seat… Private."

He raised his voice as he stalked back to the front of the room. "Okay, taking this from the top for Private Whitebrook…" A few catcalls and whistles broke out as she slid onto a bench at the back of the room. "Yes, we're related, gentlemen. This mission takes us to the Barrens. Our assignment comes from the Warchief himself."

Her cousin gestured to a map hung on the wall, his index finger coming to rest on a spot in the Northern Barrens. "Three months ago, Thrall's spies uncovered a self-proclaimed "necromantic cult" calling themselves "_Hand of the Reaper_" in the North-Central Barrens led by a warlock named Obrag Blackadder. Within weeks, they came into conflict with The Burning Blade. They were no match and the survivors moved south to this location. They had no necromancers in their ranks at this time; they were all bluffs and intimidating armor. The Horde continued to monitor the situation, but took no action."

"That all changed three weeks ago when they murdered an elderly farmer and _raised_ his remains." He indicated to a position in a remote stretch of the Gold Road. "In the intervening weeks, the rate of attacks has accelerated."

"Our first _communiqué_ with the Warchief indicated they were attempting a Lich. I say that in past tense – they may have been successful. Current intelligence says they're sending messengers to meet with the Cult of the Damned."

The paladin straightened and faced the troops assembled in the room. "That's where we come in."

"The Horde was originally planning on handling this internally, but with a possible Lich – this is now our area of expertise."

The Dwarf in the front row cleared his throat loudly, "I 'ear a catch comin'."

Anaru grimaced and nodded in agreement, "You would be right. Since heading south, they've dropped off the map. Thrall's agents have been able to provide a general idea of where they might be, but it doesn't give us much to go on." He circled a large radius, easily over fifty miles extending into Dustwallow Marsh and the Razorfen.

Hushed groans and complaints erupted from the gathered troops. Una grimaced herself and started to question what she had gotten herself into.

Anaru drew his fingers across his throat, ordering silence. "We can't realistically search this entire area, so I called in a favor to Captain Garrack Backbreaker. He'll be joining us for the mission and will be providing a tracker as well. Between his knowledge of the terrain and the tracker's skills, this should be fairly straight forward."

"We'll be utilizing stun grenades this mission. Lieutenant Ludger, be sure to pick them up before we move out. These are not trained combatants for the most part. I want to capitalize on that to make this short and sweet. The Warchief has also requested that Blackadder be taken for questioning, if possible."

"Once we've eliminated the coven, we hunt down their messengers. They should be easier to find – they'll likely take the road. Any questions?"

A murmur of acknowledgement rippled across the room.

"Good. We leave tomorrow at 0500 sharp. Dismissed."

The men stood at attention, Una with them, and saluted before leaving the room. Several made their way to the front to talk with her cousin. She guessed she needed to get supplies and probably have her armor issued.

"Private Whitebrook! Stay put." Anaru barked as she turned to leave, pointing sharply at the bench she had been sitting on. Una saluted and sat back down.

"Yes, Orcs. Get comfortable with the idea, Private Powell. The Argent Dawn doesn't have _time_ to discriminate." He told a human male sternly. She wondered idly if he would be amused if she told him he sounded exactly like his father did when they were children. "Dismissed."

The Dwarf who had spoken earlier saluted and stepped forward, even while the human still glared at her cousin.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Wan' me tae bring some incendiaries too, Commander? Any _explosives_? How's about a few wee Stings?" He asked in an almost manic tone.

Anaru grinned wolfishly, "You're worse than a Goblin, Lieutenant! Bring whatever munitions you think will help. You're carrying it, though."

Ludger gleefully saluted the paladin and walked out with a spring in his step. Private Powell issued final glare and trudged out.

The elf then put on his father's no-nonsense look as the final two men stepped forward at once. After only a few words, they gave up their own fights against having to assist Orcs and left. Anaru watched them go and then walked over.

"I'm sorry about that. As you can tell, we aren't the most disciplined bunch." He said as he straddled the bench and sat down, "Are you okay?"

"I'm a little dazed…" She said, unable to keep the sadness from her voice.

"I'm sorry. We can sit down and talk after the mission, if you'd like." Her cousin sighed deeply and inspected the wood grain closely a moment as he organized his thoughts. "In our letters, you always said that you were a better healer than a fighter. Did you mean it?" He stared at her pointedly, his jaw firm.

"Yes…?" The young woman replied hesitantly.

"Tell me, do you think you can handle being a field medic? Be honest, now." Anaru gestured with a half curled hand to emphasize each word.

"Absolutely." Una stated immediately and with far more conviction than she actually had. She had always been naturally skilled at manipulating the Light and had undergone medical training to complement those skills. However, training and experience were two completely different things.

Anaru shut his eyes, breathed a sigh in relief, and rocked backwards a moment, tipping his face up to the ceiling. When he faced her again, his customary smile had returned. "You have no idea how happy you just made me."

She brushed a loose strand of her long, brown hair away from her face nervously, "I've never done it before in actual combat…"

The elder paladin smirked, his shoulders rose and fell once in a silent chuckle, "In case you didn't notice, there's only three – wait, four – seasoned men in this outfit, including myself. You have more combat experience than a few of the recruits."

"That actually is reassuring." She said, genuinely relieved. Then she realized she had brought nothing with her in the way of medical supplies or gear. "By the Light, I have so much to do!" She muttered in a half-sigh, half-groan and pressed her hands to her face.

Anaru grinned and casually glanced out to the path as another briefing was dismissed. She followed his gaze and spotted an Undead Priest who was talking rather animatedly with a Night Elf Priestess. Both sported the gold and silver emblem of the Argent Dawn upon their robes and at the tips of their staves.

"You're in luck!" He said cheerfully. "Father Thomas! Sister Ciela! A word with you, please?"

Introductions were made and soon Una found herself being led around Darnassus to purchase medical supplies for the mission. She was given no time to feel awkward around either healer as they set off to pick up supplies. It turned out they were long-time medics for the Argent Dawn and had a great deal of advice for her as well. By the time she retrieved Vesper and made her way to the inn, she was feeling overwhelmed and exhausted.

The High Elf woman still wasn't entirely sure what she had gotten herself into, but she was committed now. She checked her supplies, packed, and crawled into the last warm bed she would likely see for some time. Despite her exhaustion when she went to bed, she slept fitfully.

Dawn came quickly. Una gave up sleeping a good half hour before she was expecting to rise and solemnly packed the last of her gear. She halfheartedly ate some breakfast and went to saddle her horse.

Vesper flicked his ears at her as she dumped his tack on the ground next to him and knelt to double-check her packs. She heard hooves approach and turned around to see the Draenei from her unit approaching, a steaming, battered tin cup held in his left hand and his gear slung over his right shoulder. He was bald and cleanly shaven with a square jaw that all males of the race seemed to possess. She hadn't seen a Draenei yet without horns, but he only had a slightly pronounced ridge on his forehead.

"You look terrible." He observed, setting his gear down. The steam rising from his cup carried the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

"Good morning to you too." She replied irritably.

The large humanoid chuckled and held out his hand, "Vindicator Hakander."

She shook the offered hand, "Private Una Whitebrook."

He took a deep sip of his coffee and then nodded to her horse, "Ready?"

Una shrugged silently.

"Commander Whitebrook; he speaks highly of you. All will be well."

Una yawned and belatedly covered it with the back of her hand. "I wish I had your confidence," she moaned.

He smiled gently down at her, "You will sleep better tonight. We ride hard. Someone always falls asleep in the saddle first mission; try not to be that one."

She gave him an inelegant sneer, eliciting another soft laugh from him. Hakander drained his cup, shook it out, and began to saddle his own horse.

The Vindicator was right on all counts.

After disembarking from their chartered ferry, they rode hard, covering most of Darkshore before taking a brief lunch break. By twilight, they had progressed deep into Ashvenvale and were already slowing. From her position, she could hear the Hakander and her cousin discussing possible camp sites. She heard a thump and a shout behind her. One of the human men had fallen off his horse and was sprawled on the road.

"Man down!" She yelled and brought her horse around to see to the fallen man. Anaru and Hakander followed, issuing orders to make camp for the evening.

The recruit was sitting up by the time she got to him, obviously embarrassed and frightened at the same time. She checked him out quickly and found no wounds. Satisfied he wasn't injured, she helped the man to his feet and over to the camp.

Hakander was also right about her sleeping better. After completing her duties and eating a meal of rations, she crawled into her tent and immediately fell asleep.

They broke camp at first light and rode hard through Ashenvale. By dusk, the colossal, ancient trees were giving way to small, low growing trees and scrub. A full moon rose before the sun finished setting. As night fell, the moon bathed the woods with an eerie half light.

They were eating another meal of rations when they heard the howl of a wolf. Another howl answered, closer. Finally the sounds of riders approaching echoed down the darkened road.

"Damn, he's impatient." Anaru remarked, tucking one last piece of hard cheese into his mouth. He stood and walked to the edge of camp just inside the light of the fire.

The wolves were visible as they loped between the trees, their forms sinuous and quick as they raced towards camp. The larger wolf tipped its head back and loosed another howl.

The men scattered and went for their weapons as the two tan and black wolves bounded into camp. They ran straight for Anaru, tails wagging. The small female wolf reared up and attempted to lick his face.

"At ease! They're not wild… they're _pets_." Anaru said sharply, grasping the persistent animal's collar and pulling it away from him.

Una could see the dark forms of the riders now; three large, muscular humanoids mounted on massive worgs. She lowered her mace and held her hand out to the larger, male wolf as it got close. It sniffed her fingers and backed away cautiously.

"Captain Backbreaker! I said we'd meet you at noon tomorrow!" Anaru called to the riders as they drew within earshot. The orcs joined them a few moments later.

Captain Backbreaker was massive and green skinned, his black hair and beard braided and streaked with gray. Two large tusks protruded from his mouth and deep lines covered his exposed face like canyons. His dark-colored armor was well kept, but covered with indications of frequent use.

The other two orcs, both hunters, were obviously much younger. One was bald and cleanly shaven; the other sported a mane of unkempt brown hair.

"Change in plans." Garrack Backbreaker growled in Common as he dismounted. Anaru and the newcomer briskly exchanged salutes. Then the orc's voice softened to almost a whisper, "They have a Lich."

The camp fell silent, only the crackling of the fire and the panting of the riding worgs broke the silence.

Anaru's expression was dour as he finally said, "So it's confirmed now, Captain?"

Backbreaker nodded grimly and turned his attention to the unit. He saluted and tapped his chest in respect as his gaze fell on Vindicator Hakander and Lieutenant Ludger who both returned the gesture. He scrutinized the recruits and spat, "These all you brought? Bah! Looks like they're fresh meat too."

"I take what I can get, Sir." Anaru said, crossing his arms against his chest.

Garrack snorted derisively. "Good thing I brought these two then." He pointed at the bald orc with his thumb, "This is my son-in-law, Dagan." The Captain then pointed two fingers at the brown haired one. "The other is Tallak, one of my best trackers. Don't be fooled, they're as deadly as any of your rangers."

Anaru saluted both hunters and turned back to Garrack, "When do we want to move out then? My men rode all day and they're fatigued. We can't afford mistakes."

"We can't afford delays either." The orc grumbled.

"I know that." Anaru deliberated momentarily before turning to address the unit, "Alright. Get some rest, men. We move out in three hours."

Captain Backbreaker nodded to the hunters, who took up watch positions. Anaru spoke with Garrack a couple minutes in hushed Orcish. Their expressions were grim. As Una laid out her bed roll, she noted the three recruits who had spoken out during the briefing looked extremely uneasy as the conversation continued.

She hoped that wouldn't hamper the mission.


	3. Chapter 3: Lich

**Chapter 3 – Lich**

**

* * *

**Several things occurred to Una within a few hours in The Barrens. The first was that it lived up to the name. It was a dusty, arid savanna under an endless dome of blue sky. The landscape stretched on as far as the eye could see; only broken by the odd mesa or sudden, rocky outcrop. They passed small farmsteads, primitive by Stormwind's standards, and prides of lions that lounged in whatever meager shade they could find under the sparse, twisted trees.

The second thing she noted was the heat. Elwynn, Westfall, and Redridge could all get hot during the summer months and certainly humid, but nothing like the heat they experienced now. Even when the occasional storm blew up from Stranglethorn, it was never this oppressive. Despite being early yet, it was already quite warm. The cloudless sky warned that it would only get hotter as the day progressed.

"Stay hydrated." Backbreaker had cautioned as the sun rose. "It's not just hot here: it's _damn hot_."

The young woman wasn't sure she would like what an orc thought to be that hot. What little she knew about them, they had settled on this side of Kalimdor for a reason. Sure enough, she quickly found herself longing for the cool, overcast skies of Darkshore.

They rode into the Crossroads, only stopping to refill their canteens and eat a brief meal. The residents openly stared at the unit and whispered in Orcish between themselves. However, the citizens didn't have long to wonder about their strange visitors. Soon enough they mounted back up and rode as fast as they dared in the heat.

The miles melted into endless miles and never-ending road, grass, and blistering sky blurred together. By noon, her back, armpits, and crotch were soaked with sweat and she could feel a steady flow running in the hollow between her breasts and around her pendant. She could say confidently that the crushing heat was the worst she had felt in her life. She found herself daydreaming in an effort to at least mentally escape as the temperature continued to soar. Vesper tended to stick close to Jet, allowing his rider to sink ever deeper into her thoughts.

She was jarred rudely back to reality by a sharp smack to the back of her helmet. Una glanced at her attacker in shock.

"No daydreaming!" Captain Backbreaker barked to her right. He had drawn his worg even with her horse. "We're in centaur country, girl. Stay alert!"

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." Una muttered, rubbing the back of her neck and blinking several times to wake herself up.

The orc smiled paternally, clapped her once on the arm, and urged his worg to the front of the line. She openly stared as he led them off the road and into the backcountry. Backbreaker wasn't at all what she expected an orc to be and she found that puzzling.

They paused at yet another small, half-dried watering hole to allow their mounts to drink. Anaru warned them to stay mounted as Garrack and the hunters dismounted. They were at one of the last places the cult had been observed and the edge of their search radius.

The captain produced a soiled wad of cloth from his pack and offered it to the hunters. Dagan accepted it, knelt and held it out to the eager wolves. The animals keenly sniffed the rag; snuffling, licking, and burying their noses deep into it. Soon, they smelled the air, ground, and grasses. They circled the unit, the horses, and slowly outward.

Dagan's little female wolf, Snow, jerked her head up, her body rigid, tail held at attention. She howled and was off like a bolt fired from a crossbow, followed closely Tallak's large male wolf.

"The hunt is on!" Backbreaker proclaimed as he mounted his worg.

They hurtled after the wolves, who led them ever deeper into the bush. She could see the giant, thorned canes of the Razorfen now, standing high above the mountains and stretching onward to the vast, winding canyons of the Thousand Needles.

They finally came to a large escarpment and the animals stopped. Their hackles stood on end as they crouched low in the tall grass with soft, almost inaudible growls. A cave was visible in the steep slope; humans, trolls, and orcs in dark robes milled about the cave mouth like a swarm of wasps.

The cultists were on high alert, but hadn't seen them yet. Dismounting and tying the horses off under a tree, the small band of fighters ducked low in the grass. From their position they could clearly see the bulk of the hostiles.

"Private Whitebrook, I want you to stay put and guard the horses." Anaru said, much to Una's dismay. She was beginning to sense a protective, older brother streak in her cousin and it was getting on her nerves. While the young woman understood his motives were sterling, they were misguided as well.

"Belay that order, Private." Garrack stated firmly. He was pulling rank on her cousin and everyone knew it. "She comes with me. I want the new recruits to stay out here and set up a perimeter."

"Sir?" Anaru questioned unhappily, his eyebrows knitted together.

"I need every experienced man in there, Commander." The Captain explained gruffly, "Liches are devious and powerful. If she can heal, her Exorcisms will hit harder."

Anaru couldn't argue with that.

They split into three groups. One group, made up of the newest and most inexperienced recruits, would stay out to guard the horses and set up a perimeter. The other two groups would circle around from opposite sides to envelop the cultists in a pincer movement. Once the cultists outside were eliminated, they would convene at the entrance of the cavern for the primary assault.

Una closely followed Captain Backbreaker and the other men. Tallak took up the rear so he could remain at range. The cultists still hadn't seen them. They used a boulder for cover as Anaru's team maneuvered into position.

A shadow fell across her and she froze. It was at the wrong angle and too large to be a bird. It languidly moved across top of the stone and down behind her.

She knew immediately it was a rogue.

Time slowed to a crawl. Her panic-stricken mind begged Garrack to turn around as she sensed the blade slide under her neck.

She heard the lazy stretch of a bow string. Why didn't the rogue hear it?

Time sped up to a blur as the arrow was loosed on the man behind her. She summoned the Light to cover her in a protective shroud as he drew the knife across her throat. The arrow hit the rogue's neck even as the blade grated harmlessly against the force surrounding her.

She struck the dying human male with her elbow to force him away from her and sidestepped as he fell.

The cultists were shouting, now aware of their presence, and the battle was on.

"Lok'tar ogar!" Garrack bellowed, leading the charge.

Tallak's hand fell on her shoulder and he spun her around quickly, his gloved fingers raising her chin to look at her neck.

"I'm fine!" She yelled and the hunter released her.

The skirmish was brief. Her cousin was right, these were not trained combatants. Faced with adept soldiers, the cultists succumbed to panic and perished swiftly. Tallak and Dagan picked off many as they attempted to flee.

"Stay sharp!" Captain Backbreaker warned as they assembled at the cave mouth. Those inside likely knew they were coming, but they probably weren't prepared for what was to come. He nodded to Lieutenant Ludger, who armed a stun grenade and tossed it in.

The flashbang exploded in a shock of light, sound, and heat. Blinded and disoriented, the cultists inside were dispatched with ease.

"What is this intrusion?" An unnatural, half-disembodied voice howled wrathfully. The temperature was noticeably dropping. Her breath was soon visible, despite the oppressive heat outside.

The cavern wasn't large, but it was deep. The unit proceeded down the ramp cautiously, keeping their backs to the wall. The runnels of blood were slowing as they advanced, turning to slush and then ice. Garrack pointed to three stalactites and gestured to Una and the two hunters to take cover.

Anaru was counting down with his fingers. Three… two… one…

Captain Backbreaker lunged forward, jumping off the last feet of the ramp to draw the Lich's attack. As the other men charged, Una and the hunters swung from behind the stalactites to attack from range.

The Lich was an impossibly tall figure, shrouded in flowing, violet robes trimmed with fur, gems, and floating chains. Upon its skull was a headdress not unlike a bishop's mitre studded with gold and yet more gems. It floated several feet above the ground, its robes fluttering in the icy, magical wind that circled its form.

She allowed holy energy to fill her entire being. The radiance to ripple out from her, lashing the Lich with its power. The hunters rained arrows down upon the undead. A storm of divine energy raged around him from her cousin and the other paladins.

She ducked behind the pillar as bolts of frigid energy shot in all directions from the undead sorcerer. A shock of frost spread across the rock like a spider's web.

Hammers filled with divine energy struck his form again and again, flashing against the frost covered walls of the cavern.

"By fire be purged!" Hakander cried, unleashing a divine torrent. Wings of golden energy sprouted from his back and lightning arced and hissed upon the air. Each strike of his massive hammer resounded upon the unliving bones like peals of thunder.

The Lich turned in confusion and inexperience, torn between the Vindicator's crushing blows and the warrior who taunted him in guttural Orcish.

His confusion left his back open to Anaru, who viciously slashed through his robes with a sword searing with sacred fire. No sooner than he turned to face Anaru, another paladin would seize the opening he left.

Una was halfway through summoning for another volley when she suddenly felt something around her neck. The young woman pawed quickly at her neck, thinking momentarily her necklace had caught on her armor. She couldn't see or feel anything, yet an unseen force constricted her throat like a thin, invisible cord.

And then she was airborne, jerked forward like a dog being dragged on its own leash.

She passed over the men and Lich as if in slow motion.

In her peripheral vision, she could see the hunters flailing through the air as well. They crossed above her and vanished from her sight.

She managed to magically shield herself an instant before she struck the far wall. Even with the Light's protection, the force of the impact cruelly drove the breath from her lungs. Her neck and face stung as her helmet went flying. Her left knee collided with her chin with a crack. And then the floor leapt up to meet her.

Una sprawled where she landed, stunned.

A tapestry that had been hung above where she crashed fell indolently over her head.

Her instincts screamed for her get up, but her muscles weren't obeying. She gasped, coughed, and sucked in deep breaths of stinging, sub-zero air.

"You belong to me now!" The Lich shrieked ominously.

Her muscles finally started working, but she couldn't find the edge of the tapestry. She squeaked in fear, clawing desperately at the cloth.

A sword stroke blessedly opened the way for her. Una rolled out, coming up onto her hands and knees.

She stared up into Ludger's face. The Dwarf's brown eyes looked bizarrely hollow, his jaw drooping. He bared his teeth and raised his sword. Una tried to bring her shield up to deflect the attack, but it caught firmly in the thick material.

Garrack was suddenly there; ramming the Lieutenant with his shield. Ludger collapsed in a heap and laid still. The warrior spun smoothly his heels and charged the Lich once more.

Una bolted upright and called the Light again. The Lich screamed as the Exorcism tore across its form. Without delay she called on it for a second time, filling her mace until it was brilliant white. She threw with every ounce of her strength. It struck.

And then it was over. The Lich spun, its form evaporating before her eyes.

"You only think you've won!" The undead thing screamed shrilly. "I will return!"

"Phylactery!" Hakander bellowed. His gaze was fixed on a worn bookcase behind where the Lich had stood.

"Destroy it!" Garrack roared even as the Draenei paladin threw his shield like a missile. It struck and the soul jar shattered upon impact. The Lich's disembodied voice gave one last screech and all was silent.

Una sank to her knees, out of breath.

The men in melee backed up little by little, as though the puddled robes might spring back to life. Gradually, they fanned out moving around the cavern.

Beside her, Ludger's unconscious form stirred and he uttered a low moan. He sat up shakily, holding his head. Una lunged to him and felt the back of his head for damage. She felt a warm lump forming, but she found no blood and felt nothing broken.

Garrack made his way over after retrieving Una's mace and knelt beside the Dwarf. "Sorry, old friend," The orc said, "But the Lich was going to have you skewer our lovely medic." He laid the weapon down by her knee and placed a hand on Una's shoulder as he watched her check the man over for additional injuries.

"Ye still hit like a loaded minin' carriage, Lad…" The demolitionist moaned. Backbreaker gave a small chuckle and lightly clapped him on the shoulder.

Una noted the Dwarf's eyes were failing to focus and one pupil was more dilated than the other. She started to fear he had a concussion. She pulled a Gnomish flashlight from the medical kit on her belt and shone it into his eyes. When his pupils failed to react to the light, her worries were confirmed.

"Medic!" Hakander yelped.

Una rose quickly and cast a worried glance back down at the Dwarf as she hooked her mace onto her belt, "Captain! Whatever you do: Keep him talking!"

Backbreaker nodded and she ran over to where she had heard Vindicator's voice.

She found Hakander and Tallak assisting Dagan to walk to her. The bald hunter was covered in blood and his left leg was failing to support his weight. Her eyes fell on a huge gash across his forehead that was pouring blood down his face. His wolf tailed them, whimpering plaintively at her master.

"By the Light, what happened?" She demanded as they helped Dagan to lie down. She snapped on a pair of sterile surgical gloves from her kit and knelt beside him.

Dagan grimaced as she probed the wound on his forehead. The incision was jagged and deep enough she could see a bit of his skull at the bottom of the cut.

"Weapons rack," He grunted succinctly. "Hit it when he threw us."

Tallak spat out a mouthful of crimson and dabbed a tear in his bottom lip with his middle finger. He grunted a brusque command in Orcish to Dagan's wolf and the animal laid down a few feet from them. Una jumped slightly at the sound of the normally quiet orc's voice. Snow obeyed, but continued to whine.

Una winced and checked him over thoroughly. The hunter was covered in numerous lacerations and abrasions, all of which were bleeding. Luckily, though it was ruined now, his armor had done its job. The cut on his forehead and his bum knee were the worst of his injuries.

Whatever had made the gash on his head had been dull and possibly rusty. The orc shut his eyes tightly as she surveyed the ragged edges, but otherwise held himself still so she could tend to him.

The elf woman cleansed the wound as best she could and stared at it, trying to figure out how to tackle it. None of the men had gone unscathed, perhaps save for those left outside, and she needed to conserve the last of her strength for the others.

A shout echoed down the corridor and the bulk of the unit bolted out. Garrack shouted orders at Private Thompson to stand guard over Ludger, Dagan, and her.

"Dagan, there is no way I can close this up cleanly." She said finally, pulling a small candle from her kit and lighting it. She passed her suture needle through the flame repeatedly to sterilize it and then carefully threaded the hook shaped instrument.

The orc chuckled softly, "Bah, scars don't concern me."

"I'm not worried about _scars_!" Una exclaimed, "You could get an infection! I'm already worried about Tetanus! Your wounds could turn septic easily out here!"

"Relax." The bald male said with surprising cheerfulness. She knew orcs had incredible pain tolerance and viewed scars as badges of honor, but this was bordering on the absurd. "You'll deal with it. And once we're done, my wife will deal with it. She's a shaman; she'll take good care of me."

Pushing aside her bafflement over his efforts to reassure her, Una bit her lip as she mulled over Dagan's wound. She had only practiced sutures before on cadavers, practice dummies, and leather. Regardless of skin color – she was about to perform sutures on a living person for the first time. She leaned forward, hesitated again, and sat back. She had just screwed up her courage again when Dagan seized her arm.

"Relax!" The orc told her firmly and then his mouth flexed into a grin. "You're making me nervous."

Una giggled in spite of herself.

"Besides… "Find-the-Scar" makes for great foreplay." He purred suggestively and winked at her. "My wife has a boundless imagination for that stuff. Oh, the things she did to me…"

"Like you get any." Private Thompson retorted with embarrassment. He looked distinctly uneasy at the direction the conversation had gone. Ludger watched them quietly, but a wide, sly grin was stretched across his face.

Dagan laughed, "Hah! She's going to pop our first kid out any day now. Or didn't your mommy explain where babies come from?"

Private Thompson shifted uncomfortably and Una shot him a glare, mutely ordering him to hold his tongue.

Una turned back to Dagan, took a deep breath, and made the first suture. Dagan grinned at her encouragingly and she made another. More shouts sounded from outside and she tensed up, the action clearly wasn't over.

"Want to hear something funny?" The hunter asked, attempting to distract her from the sounds of the fight outside. They both knew they'd call for her if or when she was needed.

"Dagan, please do not make me laugh!" Una said tersely, piercing his green skin once again with the needle and then pulling it through with the needle driver. The last thing she needed was to laugh when she was only three sutures into her first patient.

"Alright." He acquiesced, but he cast a strange look at Private Thompson without turning his head. "How about a story then?"

Una wasn't sure what the look meant, but the hunter was clearly up to no good, "Sure."

"So a couple years back, I met this fine thing. She had all the curves in the right places. Her lips were sweet as wine, but she was eager for something more… interesting." He grinned lecherously. "Her parents weren't home, so I swung in for a visit. She was waiting and bared her succulent form to me. Her mother had baked some fresh apple pies, but those went to the floor as I pillaged her moist little pussy on the kitchen table. Her petals were soft and so delectable as I teased her with my tongue…"

Una felt like she had heard this before. Private Thompson was beet red as the lewd story continued, the hunter going into graphic detail. Then it occurred to her where she had heard it before; a trashy romance novel she had purchased a couple years ago.

"But it wasn't quite good enough," Una interrupted as she tied off the suture in a square knot. "So you had anal sex, using the pie filling as lube."

Dagan's mouth fell open and he laughed. Thompson looked scandalized; she made the haphazard guess that he had originally been a priest. A celibate one at that.

"And a _paladin_ knows that _how_?" The hunter asked, genuinely amused.

"My mentor was frequently too drunk to ride. I had to do _something_ to stave off boredom!" Una smirked as she performed the last suture, bolstered by both the joke and her first success as a medic. She pulled one of her rolls of gauze from her pack to begin bandaging the wound. "That book was _such_ a fun read too."

Dagan guffawed. Thompson squirmed even more and muttered something about those books being unbecoming of a Lady. Ludger chortled and then put his hand to his head with a whine.

"Still doing okay, Lieutenant?" She asked him, concerned.

The dwarf had his hands pressed to his face. A muffled "Aye, Lass," emanated from between his palms.

The bandage done, Una squeezed and manipulated the orc's knee, feeling and listening to the workings of the joint.

It was swollen and certainly sore, but she felt nothing terribly amiss. In a normal situation in Stormwind, she would tell him to stay off it, keep it elevated, and put a little ice on it. However, the orc needed to be able to walk unassisted.

She muttered a blessing, allowing the Light to flow through her, and into Dagan.

Una rocked back onto the balls of her feet as the hunter sat up. He gently probed his knee and then the bandage on his forehead. He nodded in approval and held his hand out for the roll of bandages she was holding. "I can get the rest. See to the others."

Una nodded and surrendered the bandages. She sterilized the needle once more and then put out the candle. She was packing up her supplies when the shouts outside became more insistent.

"Whitebrook!" Garrack screamed. There was a note of panic and urgency in the captain's voice.


	4. Chapter 4: Farmstead

**Chapter 4 – Farmstead**

**

* * *

**"Una!" Anaru's scream joined the Captain's cry a moment later, his voice laced with panic.

The young woman sprinted up the ramp, her mind racing with different scenarios, each worse than the next. She slipped on the thawing rivulets of blood, but recovered before she went entirely down.

She found Captain Garrack and her cousin bent over Private Powell and surrounded by a pool of blood. Anaru's hand were clamped over a grievous wound in the human's leg, blood was pumping out between his fingers. Captain Garrack was hurriedly tightening a tourniquet made from a strip torn from his own cloak and a discarded axe handle. The human was already unconscious, his breathing shallow. She didn't need to check his pulse to tell he was near death.

Hakander was sitting against the wall gritting his teeth as he muttered a healing spell, his meaty hands clamped to his left thigh. A dead gnome rogue lay in a crumpled heap before him. Between the female's crushed skull and the paladin's crimson-stained hammer, the cause of death was evident.

Una threw herself to the ground, placing her hands over Anaru's. She called upon her strongest healing spell and Anaru did the same. Little by little, the hemorrhaging slowed. She roughly brushed aside her cousin's hands and slipped her fingers into the wound to search for the severed vein. Una located it quickly and poured healing energy into the wound. She felt the vein mend under her fingertips and she withdrew her fingers, moving on to another injury.

Powell's other wounds continued to pour blood. Driven and desperate she called on the Light with all her strength. She felt Anaru lend his power into the healing spell. She heard Hakander's step behind her. The Draenei placed a brilliantly glowing hand against the human's chest.

She pressed trembling, blood covered fingers against his carotid artery to take his pulse. She let out the breath she had been holding when she noted both his pulse and breathing were improving. Una nodded to the two men and Anaru patted her back.

Shaking, she stood for a moment to take in all of Private Powell's injuries. Those wounds were too deep to be from a rogue and in the wrong places. A rogue would most likely go for vitals like the throat where the carotid artery and the external jugular vein were housed. However, he would have bled out in seconds if the rogue had done this. The rogue Hakander encountered had obviously made a hasty attack for his femoral artery, but had either missed or been foiled. Powell's wounds were half crushing injuries and half slashing.

She gazed down at her hands and was mildly taken aback to see she had automatically put on her other set of surgical gloves without noticing.

Suddenly, the stench of putrefaction reached her. She looked out into the field to see the rapidly decaying corpse of a male orc. Even though combat had only ended moments before, the corpse was already in an advanced state of decay. It wasn't the first time she had seen a necromancer decay at an accelerated rate like this; she'd witnessed it before while traveling with Hiram, but it was somehow much worse this time. The elf guessed it was because of the intense heat.

Una gagged as another wave of stench passed over them and staggered backwards, turning away from Powell. "Who the… who was..?" She managed before a dry heave silenced her for a moment.

"Blackadder." Garrack said softly in explanation as she gagged again. "He took the coward's way."

Una swallowed hard and took deep breaths.

Once she'd regained control of her gag reflex, she looked around at all the corpses that hadn't been there when they went in. This attack had been much more intense than their initial battle. These cultists were much better armed, trained, and organized as well. Among the corpses, she could see Privates Follet, Meyer, and Davidson, but there was still three men unaccounted for.

"Fan out!" Anaru ordered, "Private Rivas, Private Martin, and Private Stanton are all missing. And stay alert!"

The men started to disperse in teams of two. Tallak cupped her right elbow silently and nodded. She understood he was indicating he would remain with her. She knelt beside Private Powell once more and started to work.

"They're not alive, are they?" She whispered.

The hunter shook his head and touched his index finger to his lips to indicate he wanted quiet. Una worked in silence, slowly feeling anxious as her medical kit felt lighter and lighter as she worked.

"This doesn't sit right." He muttered as his lip curled like a cat examining a new and foreign scent. His wolf was growling with raised hackles, but couldn't seem to pinpoint the smell either. "This isn't right…"

Una started to question the hunter when he hissed and swept his hand in a slashing motion. She sucked in a breath and held perfectly still.

"Demon…" He breathed.

She leapt to her feet and stood back to back with him, her green eyes darting rapidly in search of the enemy. Thompson, Dagan, and Ludger were all still in the cave and only Thompson was in any condition to help. The others had spread out, checking the horses and searching for the missing men.

Una thought she saw a wisp of violet smoke as her vision went momentarily hazy. Tallak's eyes glowed blood red as he turned towards her. The same eyes she had been warned about her entire life. Cold realization formed in the pit of her stomach. He was the enemy; she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before.

The hunter was reaching for her. Una swung her mace, catching him in the face. Mesmerized, she watched as his cheek rippled from the force of her blow, bloody spittle launching from his mouth as if time had slowed.

Tallak sprung away from her with remarkable agility and she lost sight of him around the edge of the rock. She jumped over Powell and raced after him.

The paladin barely exited the mouth of the cave when she heard an ominous click. Magical ice incased her body instantly. The orc stepped back into view a moment later.

The orc was yelling. What he said, she couldn't hear.

Suddenly, the already imposing orc tipped his head back and roared as he seemed to double in size. Whatever kindness and empathy he possessed fled his eyes, replaced with only animalistic rage. His wolf darted past her in a furious charge.

The hunter raised his bow, pointed directly at her. Arcane energy filled the arrow he was drawing.

He fired.

Una gasped sharply as she opened her eyes into darkness. Disorientation gripped her, quickened her pulse, and her mind whirled.

She held herself still, straining her senses. Her training cautioned her to determine where she was before she dared to move. She twitched her fingers until they closed over the hilt of her mace.

A stuttered flash illuminated the white canvas in front of her face. The cloth was gently rippling in the night air as though it were breathing. A gust of surprisingly cool yet humid air drifted in to kiss the exposed skin of her stomach and chest. It brought with it the smells of sweat, freshly cut hay, livestock, and manure.

Somewhere in the distance came the sound of a dog barking and closer the sounds of bubbly snoring.

Una sighed with relief as she comprehended where she was.

They were at Garrack Backbreaker's farmstead. Their tents were behind his family's mud and wattle homes, in the lee of a large rock formation that would protect them from the storm threatening to roll through. The wounded were sleeping inside Garrack's home tonight, attended by the Captain's wife.

The fight with the Lich was over, their mission successful.

Una tried to relax, but her nerves forbade any comfort. The memories of the fight raced through her mind unchecked. The demoness had mind controlled her into attacking Tallak, using the controlled and unconscious fear she held for their Horde allies. He had responded with the legendary ferocity of the tales from her youth.

The paladin groaned and tried to push it from her mind. She reminded herself that once the succubus controlling her was dead, Tallak had freed her from the trap, thrown her over his shoulder, and ran for cover.

Luckily, her bra provided temporary distraction. It was biting into her right side, begging her to move and adjust it. The young paladin rolled onto her back, sliding her hand into the garment to adjust her breasts and pull it back where it belonged. Her padded leather pants she normally wore under her leg armor were bunched in odd, frustrating places as well. Her chin throbbed from where her knee had struck.

Una rolled over, trying to put yesterday out of her head and get comfortable again. However, sleep seemed determine to elude her for another night.

At last, she crawled out of her tent and surveyed her darkened surroundings. To the west, over the rocks, dark clouds boiled on the horizon. Thread-like tendrils of lightning traced the curves of the gravid clouds. The moon was obscured by low, dark clouds. Somewhere to the west, Darkshore was being lashed by one if its infamous storms.

Behind her, light shown from within Garrack's spartan home and there were signs of movement within. Dagan's and his wife's half-completed home was dark; the hunter was visible through an unfinished wall sleeping in a hammock. A third structure, much bigger than the existing homes had just started construction. Large stones had already been laid for the floor and roughly hewn beams were ready to be erected.

Turning back around, the paladin's eyes landed on a spot on the rocks. A soft, blue glow emanated from somewhere above, not connected with the distant lightning. Another flash of lightning lit the sky and the harsh shadows cast by the rocks outlined a previously hidden path. She frowned, she hadn't remembered the path when they arrived at sunset.

"Sentry Totem, Honey." A deep, yet very feminine voice said softly. Una looked behind her at Garrack's wife. The matronly orc was silhouetted in the rear doorway of her home, wiping her hands off on an old rag. She had her graying, brown hair pulled back into a tight knot at the back of her head. "We can't be too careful out here."

"Oh." Una uttered softly.

"Can't sleep?"

Una shook her head and sighed. "I haven't slept well in days."

With a soft mutter of maternal disapproval, the shaman beckoned to Una and vanished into the hut.

Casting one last look up at the light from the totem, the paladin followed her inside.

The one room hut was tight and very warm, despite the metal fire pit having been moved outside. The small, traditional Orcish house was never meant to accommodate more than Garrack and his family. Una moved cautiously through the disrupted home. Garrack's wife was busily going through baskets filled with containers of all sizes. The crude shelves that had held the containers had been moved outside to make room.

Dagan's very pregnant wife sat in the house's lone chair near the front door, taking in the cool breeze from the encroaching storm and looking extremely uncomfortable. The hunter had been right: the female orc was indeed ready to give birth at any time now. Her light-weight homespun gown clung to her sweaty skin and across her enlarged belly.

Garrack's youngest daughter, a girl just barely into puberty, was sitting on the dirt floor beside her elder sister. The adolescent unabashedly stared at Una, watching her every movement. Skeins of brightly dyed hemp twine lay forgotten across her lap and a variety of wooden and bone beads were scattered across the dirt floor. Her brown hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, spotted here and there with beads she'd tied into her hair.

Ludger was snoring loudly against one wall and the other wounded on animal skins laid upon the floor. Despite knowing little about shamans, she knew a more experienced healer when she saw one. On the way here, Una had insisted the demolitionist be kept awake. However, the older woman had examined Ludger thoroughly and overruled Una's instructions.

Her gaze finally fell on Private Powell. The human rested on a pile of animal skins, his skin ashen. Of the newest recruits, only Powell had narrowly survived the surprise attack.

Una picked her way over to Private Powell and checked his vitals. His pulse was weak and his breath shallow, but both were regular. The paladin bit her lip, wondering how they would evacuate him.

"He's in good hands," Garrack's wife said. "I've seen worse."

"He almost bled to death." Una said solemnly. "He might still lose that leg."

"Bah!" The older female said, "He didn't die. You did just fine, Dear."

Una stood up and turned helplessly. She was notoriously clumsy, but had so far avoided displaying it often. In a room as cramped as this, it would be easy to trip. "Mrs. Backbreaker…" Una started awkwardly.

"Call me Maggie." The older woman interrupted turning and casting a practiced gaze over the walls.

"Maggie?" She blinked, staring at the female orc.

The shaman giggled and Una had no choice but to smile in spite her of exhaustion. Maggie's laugh was buoyant, cheerful, and decidedly infectious.

"My name is Meigmoga, but you can call me Maggie if you wish." The orc woman said evenly.

"How in the world did you end up being called Maggie?" Una realized how rude that probably sounded. "I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect," Una exclaimed quickly. She could see why she went by the name, but not quite how an orc could come to be called by such a very human name.

Maggie smiled gently and inclined her head towards the pregnant orc by the doorway, "Bah, you're fine, Dear. I was pregnant with Basya over there when Garrack and I were taken to the internment camp. The warden was a rare man of _honor_. I was having a difficult pregnancy; he made me a maid in the guard's barracks. They called me Maggie, since no one could pronounce my name."

Private Powell groaned in his sleep, making Una jump. Maggie raised an eyebrow and stared at the wounded man a moment.

Satisfied the man was fine, the orc woman looked up and then her face brightened. She said something in Orcish to her youngest and pointed. The girl jumped to her feet and fetched a small jar filled with a light green liquid off a shelf for her mother. Maggie poured a little of the viscous liquid into a wooden cup and then filled the remainder of the cup with water. She stirred the concoction with a questionable looking spoon and offered the vessel to Una.

"Drink. This will help you sleep."

Una gazed at it, torn. She had listened to endless tales of the vicious Orcish Horde and their deeds in the Eastern Kingdoms. Her parents had killed scores of Orcs. In under twenty-four hours, everything she knew about the race had been turned on its head.

When they had arrived, Dagan had shared a brief, intimate greeting with his wife. Garrack had swept his youngest up into a tight embrace before shooing her off to do her evening chores. The Orcs had then settled in to perform standard farm responsibilities. Everything she had seen was just so… _normal_.

She heard male voices and looked through the front door to see Garrack, Tallak, and Hakander leaning on the fence of the Kodo pasture despite the late hour. The Orc men had changed into simple homespun clothes while Hakander was down to his padded leather breeches.

The paladin couldn't help but feel she had stumbled into another world.

"Lady Whitebrook." The shaman repeated, this time more forcefully. Una blinked and looked at the orc woman once more. "Go to bed! You're falling asleep on your feet!"

Una accepted the cup and drained it. The medicine tasted slightly sweet and earthy with notes of several kinds of herbs. It wasn't at all unpleasant.

"Go lay down, Honey." The orc woman said kindly. When Una didn't react, she seized the elf by the shoulders and turned her to face the rear door. "Now, girl! That sedative is fast-acting!"

Una took a step and promptly fell over a heavy, squat sack filled with coarse flour. Her flailing hands caught on a small armor rack, sending the mail armor it held toppling to the floor. She heard Ludger snort as he awoke.

Maggie rushed to her, picked her off the floor, and dusted her off brusquely. She took Una's hands and flipped them over to check her palms for damage.

"We have this, Mama." Basya said softly, heaving herself out of her chair. Her little sister was already picking her way across the room. "Get her to bed."

Sure enough, Una's limbs were suddenly starting to feel heavy. Maggie helped her out of the hut and over to her tent. The young woman crawled inside and fell asleep the moment her head hit her bedroll.

She awoke to Anaru lightly shaking her. She rolled over onto her back groggily and saw her cousin framed in the doorway of her tent, a look of concern etched on his face. The sun was shining brightly behind him and she suddenly realized how hot it already was.

"Good afternoon." He said, frowning.

"Afternoon?" She asked in alarm. She hurriedly tugged a shirt over her head and scrambled out of the tent and to her feet. "Anaru… Commander! I am so sorry…" She had moved too quickly and unexpectedly felt lightheaded.

Anaru waved her apology away as he steadied her. "You're fine. The bridge was flooded from the storm this morning. We'll break camp shortly."

Una nodded and rubbed her face with a groan.

"If you're hungry, Tallak was kind enough to cook some sausage for us." He said, still looking concerned. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Are you sure you're alright, Una?"

"Nothing another good night sleep won't cure." The young woman shrugged.

"You'll get it." Anaru smiled with a nod. "We're going to Ratchet to find a mage to teleport Powell and Ludger to Stormwind for treatment and to await new orders."

She ate some breakfast and began to pack her things. She desperately needed to restock her kit. She hoped there would be no action or necessity before they reached Ratchet. As they said their goodbyes to Garrack's family and prepared to move out, Garrack hitched up a wagon and brought it around.

They loaded Private Powell and Lieutenant Ludger into the back and she climbed onto the wagon herself. One she was satisfied they were secure; she sat beside Garrack so she could keep an eye on the two wounded men. Anaru tied Vesper to a long lead along with the horses belonging to the deceased men.

They rode in comfortable silence for a several hours. The bridge was clear and only thick mud and flattened grass testified that a flash flood had occurred earlier that morning.

"Guess I can't yell "Whitebrook" anymore and get the one I want, can I? You have a name, Private?" Garrack's deep voice was soft; softer than she thought was possible coming from the Captain.

"I suppose you can call me Miss Whitebrook… My name is Una…" She replied.

The orc snorted, "Need something unique I can call out and get just you. Una's a common name; hell I know Trolls named that. "Miss" might work, but I can't always tell when I'm looking at one of your girly males."

Una shrugged.

"Fine." Garrack grunted, "From here on out, you're Betsy. I yell that, you'd best jump."

Una frowned, "Betsy? How did you come up with that? That's not even close." She had visions of another tale from the internment camps or perhaps a former comrade at arms.

"That's the name of my favorite sow." The orc said simply and shrugged.

The young woman's jaw dropped and her voice rose as she spoke, "You're naming me after a _pig_?"

The orc shrugged once more, "Why not?"

Una glowered at him. The snickers from her mounted comrades around the wagon didn't help her frame of mind. She started trying to picture the animal he was talking about, but she was proving unsuccessful. She remembered a few kodos, ducks, chickens, goats, worgs, and a crotchety, old donkey…

"…You don't have any pigs." She said slowly.

Garrack inhaled sharply, snorted by accident, and then his poker face shattered into peals of laughter.

"By the Light, you're as bad as Dagan!" She shouted at the warrior, cuffing him on the shoulder several times. Her assault only made him laugh harder.

"Why do you think I approved their marriage?" He finally wheezed, his eyes still twinkling with mirth. His voice cracked as another laugh escaped, "He can bullshit with the best of them!"

Una couldn't help but laugh.

When everyone had calmed, Hakander moved his charger closer, "Speaking of Dagan and Basya… ready to become a great-father?"

"Don't. Down that path only lies pain." Garrack grumbled and spat off the side of the wagon, "I'm not old enough to be a _great-father_! My men have been giving me shit over that for months."

By that point, they reached the crest of the hill and then the ocean came into view followed quickly by Ratchet.

The neutral port city of Ratchet sprawled for nearly a mile down the coast. From her position next to Garrack, Una could easily spot ships from the Horde, Alliance, Goblin, and even a few pirate vessels. The skies buzzed with airships, Dwarven flying machines, gryphons, hippogryphs, and wind riders. Without even being there yet, the maze of buildings looked confusing.

Garrack guided the wagon down the road and into the mass chaos of the city. She was beset by odors ranging from appetizing foods to animal waste and more languages than she could safely name rose around her. Wagons leaden with a vast variety of cargo crowed the streets.

He pulled his kodo to a halt in front an inn slightly less seedy than the others. Una hopped into the back of the wagon to check on the two men once more as Anaru set off to locate a mage and Hakander set about securing rooms at the inn.

At last he returned with a human mage, who quickly opened a portal to Stormwind. Anaru and Private Thompson lifted Powell's stretcher and carried him through, followed by a sad looking Ludger.

After saying her goodbyes to Garrack, Una retrieved her saddlebags from Vesper and turned him over to an eager stable boy.

At this time of day, the inn was mostly empty. Hakander dropped her room key into her hand as he exited the building, so Una climbed the stairs and located her room. The space was cluttered, gaudy, and stifling, yet the bed felt comfortable enough when she sat on it. She stripped off her armor, wincing at the odor.

She found soap and a pitcher of water and freshened up as best she could. Satisfied she was about as presentable as she was going to get, she put on her standard issue fatigues and slipped her spare tabard over the top.

She made her way downstairs and picked a table in the corner. It felt wonderful to just sit and relax. Una had only been there a few minutes when a female Blood Elf walked in.

The woman was a statuesque beauty, clad in dust covered red and black armor of a Blood Knight. She stood half a head taller than Una; her bright red hair swept back in a high ponytail. An elegantly crafted sword hung from her waist warned that she was not one to be taken trivially. Her green eyes swept across the room and settled on Una.

The young paladin sucked in a nervous breath as she strode confidently across the room, barely looking at the tables she stepped around. Una rose as she drew near.

"Bal'a dash, malanore. Are you with Commander Whitebrook's Unit?" She asked crisply in Thalassian.

"Sinu a'manore." It took Una a moment to come up with the correct words. Growing up in Stormwind, Thalassian wasn't a language she usually ever had a need to speak. "Yes, I am…"

The woman's demeanor changed instantly. "Wonderful! Do you know where he is?"

Una nodded and said cautiously, "He chartered a mage to transport our wounded colleagues and himself to Stormwind, but I do not imagine he will be gone long."

The other woman pouted briefly and stared at her with a strange expression on her face. Una cringed under the weight of the Blood Knight's gaze. She felt as thought she were a mouse being examined by a cat. The lady tapped her crimson lips with an elegant finger, scrutinizing the shorter, brown haired paladin up and down.

"Are you Una?" She asked at last.

"Yes…" Una responded guardedly.

The woman gasped in delight and her disposition finished its transformation. "By the Sunwell, it is fantastic to see you again!" She was practically bouncing with excitement.

"Pleased to meet you?" Una didn't intend for the statement to have the questioning upturn, but she was slightly taken aback by the woman's approach. After the events of the previous days, she was feeling tired, wary, and less than social. While she would admit to being very green, strangers claiming familiarity was a common ploy.

"My apologies. I am Mistress Esmea Sunrunner of the Blood Knights of Silvermoon." She bowed and Una returned the gesture. "May I join you?"

Una nodded and Esmea took a seat beside her. The brown haired paladin fidgeted, still feeling mistrustful. Just then, Hakander entered the inn, a female Draenei was on his arm. He looked distinctly unhappy. He spotted them and made his way over.

"Greetings, Knight Sunrunner." He said crisply, touching the fingers of his right hand to his forehead.

Esmea rose and bowed her voice once again formal as she spoke in Common, "Well met, Vindicator Hakander."

Hakander didn't seem pleased to see her. However, she thought her parents might learn something from him; he was remaining reasonably pleasant. "I see you have already met our new medic."

"Yes, I have. We were just becoming acquainted." Esmea said amiably.

"We are honored to have her. If you will excuse me, I have matters I must attend to. It is good to see you." Hakander said stiffly, bowed to each of them and guided the Draenei woman up the stairs.

As he left, the red haired knight directed her attention back to Una and smiled. "You can relax. He is always _bristly_ when he does _this_." Una suddenly had a hunch the female wasn't Hakander's wife or girlfriend.

A waiter arrived and took their orders.

"I'm sorry; it's been a rough mission." Una said when the Goblin left. She was trying not to act like her mother, but she really wasn't in the mood for head games. "I'm not feeling the most… hospitable… at the moment."

The Blood Knight smiled sympathetically at her and resumed speaking in Thalassian, "I understand the feeling all too well. I would be honored to listen if you have need to talk."

Una frowned, "I would not want to trouble you, Mistress Sunrunner."

"Please call me Esmea." She responded. After a moment, she added in a slightly melancholy voice, "I suppose you don't remember me."

"Remember you?" Una asked, even more suspicious.

"You are Ranger Ferran Whitebrook's daughter, correct? Sir Andris Whitebrook's – Knight of the Silver Hand – grand-daughter?"

Una nodded, perplexed.

"Perhaps you remember a colleague of his: Valdari Sunrunner."

That was a name Una recognized. He had been a member of Silvermoon's clergy and had died with her grandfather during the Scourge's invasion. "Yes, I am aware of him."

"He was _my_ grandfather."

"Oh." Una had to think hard for several moments. The connection brought up a vague childhood memory of playing in Elwynn Forest with a willowy, slightly bossy elf girl with red hair. It took her more thinking to come up with a name, "They called you… Emmie? Or was it Mia?"

The Blood Elf woman's face brightened, "It was Emmie! Do you remember me now?"

"We used to play together." Una felt slightly more relaxed. It would take some doing to dig those details out of her past and she wasn't quite _that_ important. A memory popped into her head and she blurted, "You failed to care for your hair, so your mother put a bowl over your head and cut it on the spot."

Esmea squeaked in surprise and put her hand over her mouth for a moment before giggling. They sat and reminisced for some time and Una found herself heartened. While she remained distrustful, each additional detail made her feel more reassured that this was genuine.

"So what brings you to Ratchet?" Una asked as their drinks arrived.

"Anaru sent an urgent request for assistance before he left Darnassus." Esmea paused as she took a sip of her sweet, alcoholic drink. "It appears we arrived too late."

Una nodded solemnly as Esmea reached under her tabard and withdrew a letter and envelop bearing the crest of the Argent Dawn and Anaru's blocky writing.

"To return to our original conversation; you would not be troubling me." She said. "Consider it a favor."

Una frowned a moment, wondering what favor that might be. Hesitantly at first, she started recounting the events of the mission, including the surprise attack and the horrible aftermath.

Esmea seemed especially troubled when Una finished. She steepled her fingers together and her eyes narrowed. "Was there perhaps anything different about the cultists involved in the ambush?"

"Their features appeared sunken; perhaps it was makeup. I fear I was preoccupied with saving a man's life."

The Blood Knight frowned deeply and then muttered to herself, "I will need to consult with Anaru to be sure."

Una tallied up the details of the mission once more in her head. Suddenly she remembered one key point of the debriefing, "By the Light… the messengers! We never went after them!" Una gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in alarm.


	5. Chapter 5: Perspectives

**Chapter 5 – Perspectives**

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Authors Note: **This chapter is not about my character, Una, but a collection of tales of some of my other characters. These tales are meant to explain the motivations and lives of those Una encounters. I also introduce a character in this chapter who will have an intimate role in Una's journey later in the story.

Thanks to KooriRoninheart, Ausable Tahawus, Rooietroll, and Baroark for your reviews! ^_^ You guys rock!

Huge thanks go to KooriRoninheart for beta reading this for me! *HUGS* Thanks Sis!

This chapter is NSFW. You have been warned.

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**I.) Home  
The Barrens, Kalimdor**

Captain Garrack Backbreaker gazed dispassionately at the clouds and he guided his wagon back to his farmstead. Another line of black, angry clouds seethed on the horizon. He could almost feel sorry for the Night Elves and Draenei that lived in Darkshore. As strong as these storms were to penetrate into the Barrens, they had to be hellacious on the coast. Silent lightning arced between and within them and the air already smelled of rain.

The warrior cursed in Orcish and spat in contempt off the side of his wagon.

Rain, he could live with. Hell, if he could get something other than weeds to grow in his fields, he'd be elated. His family would save a great deal of coin if they could simply grow their own hay and grain to feed their livestock. It was the flash floods he could do without. The soil was too dry to allow any of the rain that fell to soak in, so it pooled on the surface and ran in torrents through long-dry creek and riverbeds. While he had settled his family on a sheltered high point, storms always worried him especially now with a new baby on the way.

He frowned deeper as Tallak came into view. The brown haired orc was seated on Garrack's favorite chair, leaning against the wall of his home with his bow across his lap. Dagan's and his wolves were but two shadows moving in the high grass as they prowled the borders of his farm.

The hunter had his own wife and children to return to in Orgrimmar; and, Garrack's wife and daughters were more than a match for most of the threats in the Barrens. Tallak and he weren't blood, but they were of the same clan which was just as good. The quiet orc would stay for only one reason. The warrior felt a hopeful smile form upon his lips.

"Much more and we won't need to look for fresh water for the Birthing Ceremony." Tallak commented as he pulled the wagon to a halt. As if to punctuate his remark, a loud, pained moan emanated from the house.

"About damn time!" The captain said, nodding in satisfaction. "Was thinking my leave would end before she popped. Sounds like I'm just in time."

"Yeah, she's been at it since about an hour after you left." Tallak said simply, climbing up onto the wagon to take the leads from him.

"Thrall still up to performing the Ceremony later?" He asked, climbing stiffly down once the hunter was situated. He had injured his knee at some point during the skirmish, but their medic had patched him up real good. The captain knew he'd be recovered and ready for duty by the time his leave was up.

"Yeah. His clan and all." Tallak grunted in confirmation and took the wagon around to the back as Garrack stepped inside.

His eldest daughter was sitting naked on the wooden birthing stool he had made for her, resting before the next contraction hit. Basya's hands rubbed her belly as she panted heavily, as if to soothe the child within. The ground beneath the U-shaped stool was damp with fluids.

Given the squeamishness of a few of Anaru's men, the captain was glad her labor had held off until after they left. Privacy wasn't a luxury they had out here in the Barrens and little facts like that were often hard for humans to swallow. It was still amazing to him, given he knew city-dwelling humans had given up one-room dwellings not all that long ago. In rural areas, many still lived like that. But somehow they still clung to odd concepts of privacy and modesty.

His wife was healing a wound on Dagan's arm, watched closely by his youngest, Kaia. Garrack guessed she was trying to prevent Basya from accidentally reopening the wounds during a contraction. His son-in-law was practically a walking bruise already. Dagan's commander and squad would have a field day with him when he returned to his unit.

"Greetings, Love."

"Papa!" Kaia bounded over to embrace him.

"Lok'tar… Greatfather!" Dagan flashed him his best shit-eating grin as he released his youngest. Garrack merrily slapped him on the back as he passed.

"Hello, Papa." Basya greeted breathlessly as he knelt beside her. His eldest was sweating profusely, her dampened brown hair clinging to her skin. "Warning you now… I'm going to get a little loud…" She paused to breathe, "…very shortly."

Garrack chuckled and stroked her face, "I've been through this three times – remember?"

Basya nodded, sucking in a deep breath as another contraction approached. He gave her his off hand to grasp, knowing from experience not to offer his sword hand. She groaned, her face contorting in pain and concentration. Her hand closed around his like a vice.

"Remember to breathe through the contraction, Honey." His wife reminded, giving Dagan's other injuries another quick look. He knew from the look on her face she approved of Private Whitebrook's handiwork.

The captain had to admit, the elf girl had done a fine job patching everyone up. He was pleased with himself for insisting she come inside with the rest of the troops. It would have been a damn shame to lose her with the other recruits. There was some real talent there; all she needed now was experience.

Just as the bones in his hand started the creak from the force of her grasp, his daughter relaxed and released him. She panted heavily, returning to rubbing her rounded abdomen. The woman shifted on the stool, as if trying to make herself comfortable.

"I can't sit on this…!" Basya gasped after a few moments and started to rise unsteadily. Her hand was clasped to the bottom of her belly, her entire body shuddering. Garrack helped her to rise, glancing to his wife for confirmation.

"Whatever you find most comfortable, Dear." Meigmoga said with a nod. It wasn't often issues of comfort were discussed either. "Dagan, put one of the skins down for her. I think she's going to want to squat or sit."

"Sit..." The woman agreed in a groan.

The hunter moved quickly, taking one of the animal skins from the pile and following them as Basya moved to the wall. He laid it down and then helped his father-in-law lower her to the ground.

She was soon rocked by another contraction. Dagan slipped behind her, putting his legs on either side of her body, and then pulled her back so she was propped against him. The hunter tenderly caressed her forehead and offered her his arms to grasp.

"Got to be getting close." Garrack said as his wife knelt between their daughter's legs. Basya's chin was tucked into her chest as she gave a loud, long groan.

His beloved wife smiled in agreement as she examined Basya, slipping practiced fingers into the birth canal to gauge her progress. "She's ready. It's up to the little one now." Meigmoga rose to move her birthing supplies closer. "Basya, let me know when you need to push."

Their eldest gave a slight nod, her knuckles pale as she clenched Dagan's arm.

Garrack stood to help his wife. After being married to a healer for so many years, he could recognize some of the items she would need. He picked up a basket of medical supplies and glanced briefly around for anything else he thought she might need. It was these rare times where he once more felt like he did back in Nagrand and in a proper clan.

They had been young newly weds when they came to Azeroth, crazed with the Blood of Mannoroth. Once freed of the Blood Curse, they had taken to the mountains.

They had hoped to find the legendary Frostwolf Clan. They had heard rumors that the survivors of Garrack's clan had joined them in their remote village. With little knowledge of where they might be, aside from deep in the Alterac Mountains, they set out into the wilds.

They spent years managing to stay one step ahead of the trackers, living off the wilderness and never staying in one location long. Meigmoga eventually became pregnant and within a very short time started suffering from complications. Slowed due to her frequent illnesses, their freedom came to an abrupt end. They were quickly found and taken to an internment camp in the lowlands. The Warden, though still cruel, had found pity for the young orc couple. Given the era, they assumed the Warden couldn't openly display his honor and compassion. She kept the barracks clean and they kept her warm and decently fed. Garrack, the son of a farmer, was eventually shown to the Warden's vineyards.

When she went into labor, a Midwife was sent for. The Warden had cruel, insulting explanations ready for this additional kindness, but Garrack appreciated it all the same. He spent most of the labor and delivery all but pissing himself in fear. Basya's birth had been extremely difficult; he had nearly lost both his wife and daughter in the process.

The captain prayed to the Ancestors that this birth would be as easy as their second daughter, Dagda, and their youngest, Kaia.

"Grab those blankets too, Garrack." Meigmoga took the basket from him and pointed to a several woven blankets draped over an armor rack.

The warrior strode over and picked up the expertly woven, feather soft baby blankets. The weave was clearly Tauren in style, but in patterns he was unfamiliar with. He frowned deeply, "These are too fine to stain with blood and Life Water… it's wasteful. Do we have something less…?"

"Those were gifts from Nantan and Honovi." Meigmoga interrupted, "They _intended_ for them to be used for the birth."

The Captain shrugged and draped them over his arm. The Tauren couple had strange ways, but he wasn't one to question the wisdom of Druids. For all he knew, the blankets were imbued with Druidic magic. He knelt beside his wife, grimacing inwardly as pain shot through his injured knee for the first time since the battle.

Dagan had pulled his right arm from Basya's grasp and rested his fingers between her spread legs. He was muttering into her sweat soaked hair and kissed her neck as she strained under a fresh contraction. Garrack was both amused and impressed by his son-in-law's calm fascination with the entire process.

He glanced up at Kaia. The teenager was staring intently at her sister, a variety of expressions dancing across her youthful face.

"You could be down here helping…" Garrack grumbled loudly. His injured knee felt like he'd knelt on a dagger. He rose stiffly, flexing his leg several times in an attempt to ease the pain. "I'm not a healer."

Kaia shook her head ardently, her face suddenly pale.

"You wanted to be a shaman." He reminded her sternly and pointed to Basya, "Even if you choose to wield axes like your sisters, you'll be called on to heal from time to time."

The teenager shook her head once more as Basya cried out in pain.

"When you were little, you use to stuff a doll up your shirt and pretend you were pregnant often enough..."

"Papa! Papa! I'm having a baby!" Tallak called from outside in a falsetto impression of Kaia as a child. The youngster startled, obviously forgetting the quiet hunter was still present.

Garrack smirked up at her as Tallak cast a few more mocking jabs. The hunter's taunts were having a better effect on her than his trying to reason with her.

Embarrassed and sullen, Kaia drifted to the far wall. Shaking his head at her spoiled behavior, he directed his attention back to his other daughter and soon-to-be-born grandchild. He'd deal with her later.

Basya's latest contraction ended with a distinct grunt. Garrack remembered his own wife making those noises all those years ago. Maggie arched one eyebrow and scooted closer to her daughter. The flesh between Basya's legs was starting to distend as the child moved ever closer to the world. He tossed all but one blanket over his shoulder and knelt back down beside her.

Basya seemed to sense her time was near. Her brown eyes were wide as she evaluated what she was feeling. Her voice was oddly conversational as she stated, "I'm going to push."

"Then push!" Her mother said.

The command was unnecessary; she was already bearing down, her body shaking with effort. Halfway through the second push, a blood curdling scream erupted from her.

Garrack mentally commanded the weakness to leave him. He loathed when women or children screamed; or when anything screamed shrilly. It reminded him too much of what he had done under the Blood Curse; made him remember slaughtering Draenei women and children. It affected his nerves and made his knees weak. From conversations with other Veterans, he knew he wasn't alone.

He focused on the space between her legs where his grandchild would emerge, just as he had been forced to do for each of his daughters. Keeping his mind on the little one about to enter the world had always helped his nerves. However, Dagan's hand still obscured his view.

Basya sucked in a breath and pushed once again; her howls of pain becoming fiercer. Blood started to well on the hunter's other arm as his daughter's clenched hands reopened the same wound Meigmoga had healed. He didn't seem to notice.

"I think I feel the head…" Dagan's grin was impossibly huge as his fingers probed his wife's vaginal area. Basya brought her own hand down to touch her child briefly before bringing it back up to clutch his arm.

The healer gently swatted his hand away.

Garrack could see a small, pale circle of scalp with a few whorls of sparse dark hair framed in her folds as the child crowned. His daughter cried out as she bore down once more.

Gradually, the circle widened as she continued pushing. Then with an almost startling abruptness, the baby's head emerged fully accompanied by a gush of Life-Water and a shriek of agony from Basya.

"Hold for a second!" Meigmoga cupped the tiny head with one hand as she hurriedly slipped the fingers of her opposite hand inside to check if the cord was present. She relaxed and ordered her daughter to continue pushing.

Moments later the slick, pale green body of his grandson slipped into his wife's waiting hands.

"A strong little boy!" The shaman crowed as Garrack handed her a syringe. The newborn was already attempting to breathe and let out a thin, gurgling cry. She skillfully cleared the infant's airways and then flipped the child onto his stomach to slap his tiny back a couple times. The baby sucked in a breath and released a healthy scream.

From outside, he could hear Tallak's elated bellow.

Basya had fallen back against Dagan, spent but triumphant. His son-in-law lifted her head and kissed her.

Garrack returned his gaze to his grandson as his wife finished examining the newborn. He pulled a couple strands of twine from the basket as she readied a small knife. She pulled the twine from his fingers, tied the still pulsing Life-cord off, and then severed the connection between mother and child.

Meigmoga met his eyes with a loving gaze as she lifted the infant. He held out his blanket covered arms to accept the child, wrapped him loosely, and then handed him back.

She began to briskly wipe the blood and remains of the birth from the newborn's body with the edges of the blanket. The little one's scream strengthened further with the stimulation, his diminutive face flushed as he wailed.

She discarded the wet, stained blanket and passed his grandson back to him so he could wrap him in a fresh blanket. Garrack smiled proudly down at the new life in his arms and then passed him to his parents.

Basya stared at her long-awaited child, her eyes filled with joy and clearly no longer noticing her pain. Dagan's face had assumed a look of pure wonderment as his wife inspected their newborn son.

"Picked out a name yet?" Garrack asked softly as his wife readied a bowl for the afterbirth.

"Tarod." Dagan said reverently, examining his son's tiny, clenched fists. Basya finally lifted her eyes from the baby, looking into her husband's face and they exchanged another kiss.

Garrack nodded, recognizing Dagan's late father's name; it was an honorable and wise choice.

Outside, a soft rumble of thunder rolled across the sky like a contented purr. The Captain decided it would be a great story to tell Tarod when he became a great shaman how his very birth broke a drought.

* * *

**II.) Ends & Justifications  
Stormwind City, Elwynn Forest, Eastern Kingdoms**

"If you're sure then. I hate to lose you." Anaru said wearily.

"I'm sure. I'm not cut out for this." Thompson replied, once again offering him his Argent Dawn insignia.

The brown haired paladin sighed and solemnly accepted the badge. He pensively turned it over in his hand, watching the light glint off symbol of the Argent Dawn and Thompson's engraved name.

This was yet another blow in a series of events he'd rather forget.

The loss of six men, while understandable given the circumstances, was still a grave loss. Powell had regained consciousness briefly and told him he would return if he could. Ludger was incredibly unhappy about being placed on medical leave; but, this was the Dwarf's fourth concussion while under his command. While Anaru needed no reassurances about his desire to return, he needed to know the next blow to the head wouldn't kill the Demolitionist. However, two more out was still another loss.

A ninth was just adding insult to injury.

"Take care of yourself, man." The elf said, clasping the human's hand in a firm handshake.

"You too, Sir." Thompson gave him a final salute and walked into the cathedral.

Anaru watched him go and with a heavy heart began making his way through Stormwind City's crowded streets.

He never encountered the confrontations or accusations his cousin mentioned, but he figured it was probably a combination of luck and his almost instinctive use of old Order of the Silver Hand gestures. Which was good, all things considered.

After a long, heart-to-heart discussion with his father, Anaru had come to accept Silvermoon's decision to join the Horde. He didn't necessarily agree with a large number of choices the Sun Prince and his countrymen had made, but he could accept and forgive.

However, Anaru had a good feeling that wouldn't endear him to the High Elves of Stormwind or – more importantly – to his Aunt and Uncle. He wasn't entirely sure what he had done to provoke their wrath last visit, but his Uncle had made his dislike very plain.

In arguments he was at a disadvantage by having a profound case of _l'esprit d'escalier_: he could never come up with a proper comeback until well after the fact. The one time in his life he had managed to outwit his Grandfather in a debate with a well-timed comeback was still a source of great pride. Of course, his Grandfather had never debated him with malicious intent. While his Grandfather was certainly capable of malice, it was never towards him and never in cold blood.

Uncle Ferran and Aunt Tyalaria had no such handicap. His uncle expertly knew how to push his buttons; even those Anaru didn't know he had. Aunt Tyalaria was much sneakier and manipulative. She didn't have to push his buttons, she'd trick him into saying something incriminating or demeaning that would leave him doubting himself for days. Last time, they had restrained themselves, likely to avoid conflict with Una.

Frankly, he didn't have the heart at the moment to deal with his family. He had prided himself on being able to avoid unnecessary casualties. Losing this many men left him questioning himself already. Anaru had done his best to avoid the districts they were known to frequent as he delivered the grave news to the men's families. Their families' reactions ranged from quiet acceptance to hysterics and weeping to doors being slammed in his face.

Now that he had accomplished all his duties in Stormwind he needed to visit the Mage Quarter for a portal back to either Theramore or Orgrimmar. He had to debrief Warchief Thrall and decide on their next course of action.

He was almost to the Wizard's Sanctum and soon he would be away from the city and back to work.

"Anaru!" A male voice barked furiously. A very familiar voice.

The paladin froze, his eyes wide. Uncle Ferran. He counted to ten, trying to calm his racing heart, and turned around slowly. "Yes, Uncle?"

His Uncle was stalking towards him with ill-controlled anger. His once green eyes were squinted, as though he was having difficulties seeing. Just as Una and he held a strong family resemblance, his Uncle was a mirror image of his father. However, he couldn't be more unlike his father in temperament.

"What did you do to my little girl?" He demanded, his face ugly.

"What did I do..? Nothing!" It would only get worse if he admitted she had been assigned to his unit, so he decided it was time to lie by omission. "She joined the Argent Dawn, but..."

"Don't give me excuses, boy! You convinced her to join your little sham!"

"Good old Uncle Ferran." Anaru muttered and pressed his hands to his face. Might as well not even attempt pleasantries. "You're not making any sense. The Argent Dawn was formed to fight Demons and the Scourge. Some of us are former Knights of the Silver Hand! It's hardly a "sham"."

"My girl idolizes you and my fool of a father! You turned her against us with your tall tales! First a _paladin_ and now… now _this_!"

"Una... is an adult!" Anaru growled, struggling to control his temper. "You talk as though she can't think for herself!"

"Don't lie. You knew what you were doing!" The older elf was mere inches from his face. Rage seemed to surround the ranger like a shroud.

"How did I do that, pray tell?" Anaru snapped, "Oh wait, I told her to find something she believed in. Is that it?"

"You put those crazy thoughts in her head! Eventually you'll convince her she wants to be one of your kind too!"

"My kind! My kind! What the fuck do you mean by that?" Anaru bellowed, growing tired of this pointless argument. If his Uncle had an issue, he wished he would just address it directly so they could get this over with.

"You and those Blood Elves. Traitors! All of you!"

"By the Light… This has nothing to do with her leaving, does it? This is more politics to you!" The paladin laid his face in the palm of his hand, feeling a tick forming on his right cheek. "I'm not a Blood Elf, you idiot!" He screamed. He would have gotten more coherent responses from a Wretched! "I haven't been in Silvermoon in ages! I only finally spoke with my father a month ago! Una has no interest in the Horde!"

"Liar!" Ferran bellowed.

The younger elf palmed his face once more. This was getting him nowhere. He sucked in deep breaths, once more attempting to calm down.

"Yes, I thought so. Filthy Blood Elf. Can't think without sucking down some magic, can you?" The ranger spat at him. "She's too good for the likes of you. Filth! You're a disgrace to this family. I'm embarrassed to be seen with you."

Anaru's vision went red for a moment before he managed to calm himself. He resisted the distinct urge to strike his father's brother. Not only was it against his principles, but the last thing he needed was to be thrown in the Stockade. He growled quietly, "Then why the hell are you still screaming at me, asshole?"

He knew the punch was coming and he braced himself for it. After all, it was how Uncle Ferran and his father's arguments always ended. His Uncle's fist collided with his jaw, snapping his head around. He spat the bloody spittle from his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his gauntlet. He glared balefully at his Uncle.

Their exchange had drawn a crowd. The ranger was looking towards the Wizard's Sanctum, looking somewhat alarmed. He strode off rather quickly.

"Crazy old man." He muttered in Thalassian, dabbing his bleeding lips with his fingers. The paladin wasted a bit of mana to heal the split.

A soft step on the gravel behind him made him jump slightly in surprise. He could see a blonde human mage in pink and white robes in his peripheral vision. Anaru understood now why his Uncle had retreated.

He turned briskly to salute and kneel before the woman respectfully. He knew he was overdoing his court manners, but it felt right given the circumstances. "Lady Proudmoore. Please forgive the... that exchange."

"Commander Whitebrook." Jaina Proudmoore curtsied in response and gestured for him to rise. "No apologies are necessary. That was certainly awkward."

"Still, I must apologize. I wished to avoid a scene such as this. I was merely seeking to charter a portal... I fear there's family politics involved to which I am not privy..." He realized belatedly that he was starting to ramble in embarrassment.

"Commander Whitebrook!" She exclaimed, indicating for him to stop. "Please, there is no need for apologies."

Lady Jaina Proudmoore always managed to amaze him. They were introduced years ago when he was but a squire under his Grandfather's command. This was perhaps only the third time they had met and she still remembered his name.

"Thank you, Lady Proudmoore." Anaru felt his face was warm all the way to the tips of his ears. He struggled to think of something to say, but found himself at a loss for words.

"If I may be so bold, where did you need to go?" She asked at length.

Anaru took a deep breath and stood tall once more. "I require passage to either Theramore or to Orgrimmar. I must report to the Warchief Thrall regarding a mission my team recently completed. Lady, I fear you might have a Death Cult near your borders."

"That is grave news. I will open a portal to Orgrimmar. Please send word if you uncover more news regarding this cult."

Anaru bowed once more and touched his fingers to his forehead. "I will, My Lady."

* * *

**III.) Standing Alone  
Manaforge Coruu, Netherstorm, Outlands**

Unearthly violet lightning flashed in seething, sky filled with gaseous mana and nether energy. Great peals, crashes, and hisses of thunder relentlessly exploded on the air. It was a broken, blasted, and desolate landscape of purplish-gray stone with deep crevices and sharply jutting stones. Dangers lurked behind every turn. Massive chunks of rock floated unnaturally in the air as if they were children's balloons, some steady and others moving erratically.

Blood Knight Initiate Welan Whitebrook gazed down at the trio of desiccated corpses before him in horror; all that remained of their best researcher and her two ranger bodyguards. While corpses out here did tend to mummify rather than rot, this was unnatural. They had last been seen just under an hour ago. Yet they were in full rigor and their bodies dried out as though they been dead for weeks.

Behind him, the conduit hissed and buzzed with the energy they were siphoning off for Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider and Tempest Keep. It overpowered nearly all other sounds at this tiny lip of rock at the edge of this dying world. This was a remote section behind the Manaforge, any number of things could have happened to them. Though if it were humanoid, they could have easily disposed of the evidence by shoving the corpses off into the nether where they would never be found or recovered.

"Where the HELL are those Blood Knights?" He growled to his companion. He rubbed the back of his head, not quite caring at the moment that he was mussing his carefully styled, short brown hair. In fact, at the moment he felt almost compelled to tear his hair out in frustration.

Technically, he wasn't supposed to even be in Outland. He had wanted to go, but was barred due to his age and inexperience. By his people's standards, he wasn't even an adult yet and wouldn't be for several more years.

However, Welan excelled at his coursework and had spent many hours formally learning the art of combat. After standing in Anaru's shadow for so long, he wanted nothing more than to push his favored brother off his pedestal. Even if only for a moment.

His Father, the illustrious and well-connected Magister Eilonel Whitebrook, had pulled strings, called in favors, and somehow secured a position as a bodyguard to Spellbinder Maryana.

The blonde mage pressed the wide sleeve of her crimson robe to her face in disgust as she gazed down at the withered cadavers. "I don't know. Seylanna was contacting Tempest Keep for assistance…"

Behind him came similar mutters from the complement of Sunfury Rangers that had just arrived on the scene from the nearby Sunfury Hold.

The response was unanimous: No one had seen a single Blood Knight in over an hour aside from himself.

Wherever they had gone, they had left the Manaforge completely unprotected.

"They can get their asses over here and make themselves useful for once!" Welan roared. Under normal circumstances, his outburst would have been met with swift punishment from the resident Blood Knight Commander, Ashal Orlinde.

Today, only silence met his cry.

Orlinde was from Anaru's class at the Academy and had been the bane of nearly all the Cadets and Initiates. Nothing was ever quite good enough to please the black-haired paladin. His punishments were humiliating at best and at worst, cruel. All because he, like his brother, were paladins before the destruction of the Sunwell. Somehow, Orlinde felt that made him better than everyone else.

The male's corpse moved suddenly, rolling halfway onto his back.

"I thought you said they were dead!" A ranger shouted in panic.

"They… are…" Welan said slowly, his eyes widening in fear. He couldn't sense any undead nearby and none of the bodies had a pulse when he checked them either.

"What is…?" Maryana started to say, but her voice died in her throat.

"Run." He whispered to the mage as the female corpse's belly began to move, the skin still bizarrely elastic. The movement was slowly moving up her torso, her shriveled breasts rising and falling under her shirt as though breathing. He raised his voice as much as he dared, "Run! Now!"

She obeyed, self preservation winning over her horrified curiosity.

"Go!" He said in a hushed voice to the rangers. "I'll hold it off!" He heard them move _en masse_ to cover Spellbinder Maryana as she fled.

Welan lunged forward, thrusting his arms under the first ranger's lifeless shell. Something hissed ominously from within. He threw the corpse as hard as he could over the brink and scrambled back.

He seized the second ranger's corpse by the ankle just as the belly lurched sharply upward. A feral growl came from the body as he dragged it quickly to the edge. Something pale and slimy broke through with a snarl and a flash of teeth, but the paladin kicked the corpse as hard as he could. It slid, teetering for a moment and then corpse and creature vanished into the abyss.

"Welan!" Maryana screamed. "Come on!"

He turned back from the edge and his shout for her to keep running died before it crossed his lips.

The researcher's body was twitching as something crawled its way up her throat. A glistening, white tentacle emerged from her mouth and caressed the dead Sin'dorei's cheek.

"Welan! Run!"

The paladin drew his sword and side-stepped slowly around, never turning his back on the corpse.

The back arched and the mouth yawned wide. The once-beautiful elf's lips and cheeks stretched and tore as the white thing emerged. Slimy, pale, and apparently blind, the creature moved around it as though searching for him. Despite appearing boneless and living inside the body of another, a mouth filled with rows of serrated teeth sucked in breaths of air.

Welan darted forward, swinging his sword in a vicious overhead sweep. Impossibly, the beast seemed to sense him at the last moment and flattened. A divine storm raged around him as he spun on the balls of his feet and brought his sword around for a second attempt.

Something small and white shot at him from the creature's mouth. It went wide, vanishing into the rocky outcrop behind him.

Welan slammed into it with an explosion of Light, stunning it. He brought his sword down, cleaving it in two.

He kicked the parasite's carcass with all the strength he could muster, launching it over the edge.

Panting, he turned back to the researcher's remains. It was still now, the face and head mutilated from the parasite. He lifted the ruined body up cautiously, almost tenderly, walked her to the rim, and dropped her over.

Something struck him in the back with startling force. He stumbled sideways into the conduit. Welan's armor withstood the unexpected attack and he spun around to look for his assailant.

There was nothing there.

Something hissed and then dropped to the ground with a wet plop. The Initiate spun, his green eyes falling on a small, worm-like creature. It hissed, growled, and made an alarmingly large leap for something that tiny.

He pivoted out of the way and gazed down at it with a curled lip as the worm landed. He realized this must have been what the creature spat at him.

Welan stomped his foot and cast all the holy power he could muster into the ground at his feet. Light shown between the cracks in the stones and spread like water. The larva sizzled, popped, and crackled as the energy cooked it from the inside out. It finally lay still, continuing to burn with his power until it was a greasy, blackened slick on the barren rocks.

Shouts came from above him, breaking through the steady buzz of the conduit. Riding Dragonhawks circled the Manaforge as troops from Tempest Keep arrived.

Welan trudged up the hill, still catching his breath. Maryana and Seylanna were talking animatedly with one of Tempest Keep's elite guardsmen.

The Blood Knight spotted him and shouted, "You! Boy!"

Welan sucked in a breath and jogged to him, snapping to attention when he reached them.

"Spellbinder Maryana says you fought a creature. Some sort of parasite?"

"Yes, Sir. It's dead."

The Blood Knight Master stared at him, "You're an _Initiate_, do I have this straight?"

"Yes, Sir."

"How did you even make the cut?" He demanded, gazing down at him in amazement.

Maryana stepped forward, "He was assigned as my bodyguard. Until today, he has simply been a companion. He truly was amazing."

Welan felt his cheeks and ears warm at the unexpected praise. "Please, I _do not_ deserve this praise, Lady. The parasites were not as strong as most creatures in this region."

"He used his head!" The mage persisted. "He cast the others into nether so he only had to contend with one."

Shouts sounded as riders appeared from the north. The Sun Prince's standard held high, the glowing, crimson gems visible even from a distance. Among them, a white hawkstrider and three brilliantly glowing green spheres were clearly visible.

Minutes later, Prince Kael'thas and a regiment of Elite Blood Knights arrived. Sandwiched in the middle of the regiment was the missing knights.

Welan knelt beside Maryana, feeling himself tense as the Blood Knight that had questioned him approached the Prince. They traded quiet words momentarily.

Commander Orlinde was in chains, his hands bound behind his back. He was violently pulled from the saddle, led up the path, and forced to his knees before the Prince.

"Commander Orlinde." The Prince addressed him without preamble and loud enough for everyone to hear. "What was the meaning of leaving my Manaforge undefended?"

Orlinde's voice shook as he spoke, "I spied an encampment of demons not more than three miles from our location, Sire. I felt they posed an immediate threat."

"So you left the Manaforge undefended to pursue them…" Prince Sunstrider said, his voice clipped. "What was the protocol I set in place when we arrived?"

He didn't give the paladin a chance to answer as he continued, "Ah yes, you were supposed to immediately contact Tempest Keep for assistance."

Welan sucked in a breath as the Sun Prince paced close. He gestured down at the Initiate kneeling before him with an elegantly manicured hand.

"Meanwhile we have a young Initiate who followed protocol to the letter, Commander Orlinde. He alone defended my lieutenant." The Prince outwardly sounded calm, but from his own family, Welan could tell he was livid. Prince Kael'thas wasn't speaking the entire truth either; but, it was also clear that both of them were being made into examples. "Does that not seem… odd to you?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." The black haired knight gritted out.

"Initiate Whitebrook." Kael'thas said crisply, not turning around. "Arise."

Welan jumped to his feet and stood at attention, not quite able to believe the Prince was actually addressing _him_, "Yes, Your Majesty?"

The Prince turned to face him, "Your exceptional demonstration of skill and bravery is to be commended."

Welan felt dizzy. "T.. thank you, Your Majesty!"

Prince Kael'thas inclined his blond head to the young elf and then turned his attention back to the Blood Knight in chains. Welan dropped back into a kneel as he was taught. "However, you are a different matter, Ashal Orlinde. Your rash decision to attack the Burning Legion placed both my Manaforge and an entire company of Blood Knights in jeopardy." He gestured once more at Welan. "That is something I would expect from a child, not a Master Blood Knight."

"My most humble apologies, Sire." Commander Orlinde sounded genuinely terrified. Welan felt a stab of pity for the other paladin, but not much.

"So I think it would be most appropriate if you took Initiate Whitebrook's rank and title and he assumed yours."

* * *

**IV.) Lost in Thought  
Orgrimmar, Durotar, Kalimdor**

Anaru was seized by the shoulders slammed into the rough hewn planks of a woodshed. He caught the briefest glimpse of his horse, Jet, before he was roughly spun into the stifling darkness of the structure. His armored chest struck the inside wall. A practiced leg brusquely parted his own and leather clad hands roughly positioned his hands over his head.

Dusty light filtered through the gaps between the boards, and the aroma of an exotic and somewhat rare perfume tickled his nose. It was a scent he knew all too well.

Those same hands deftly removed his sword belt and then straps holding his leg armor. The woman behind him allowed them to fall loudly to the dirt floor before returning to undo his belt. That too was pulled free and allowed to fall to the floor. The hands vanished and returned, bare and rough from years of wielding a sword. They slid under his leathers, caressing his belly, hips, and then his lower abdomen.

"You. Ignored. Me." Esmea Sunrunner's voice growled in Thalassian, emphasizing each word. His girlfriend's hands thrust beneath the waistband of his leathers and closed abruptly around his length, forcing a gasp from his lips.

Anaru grunted sharply, sucking his breath in. "Sorry!" He rasped breathlessly. He had absolutely no doubt he was in trouble, though truth be told, this wasn't the sort of trouble he exactly minded being in.

"Blew right past me." She hissed, her right hand still clasping his penis tightly while her left caressed his lower stomach. "I even _called_ to you."

"Emmie…" The paladin gasped sharply as her hands withdrew to yank his pants and shorts down to fully reveal his arousal. She wasn't exactly gentle as her hands cupped and teased him. One of her manacured nails traced a slow, deliberate line between his testicles and up the underside of his shaft. Her ministrations were downright torture; dancing at the razor-fine edge between pleasure and pain.

"Don't "Emmie" me!" The lady knight said sharply, "You become too distracted! What am I to do…?"

The door behind them slammed open, covering them in harsh, burning sunlight. An orc male's voice bellowed for them to halt.

"At ease," Anaru said with difficulty. "My _girlfriend_ is punishing…" His voice cut off sharply as she began to expertly pump his heated flesh.

The Guard uttered a low, knowing chuckle and the door shut quietly. The orc's steps receded into the distance and the quiet hush of the Drag returned.

"I am surprised," Esmea purred in his ear, speeding up her rhythm. "Last guard to catch us wanted to watch."

"You _were_ naked at the time…" He said through gritted teeth as she continued to pump his throbbing cock, all the while her left hand continued teasing him.

"I bet you'd like that now, wouldn't you?" She whispered into his ear. "Too bad I have the upper hand."

Anaru smirked. He spun, seized her in a wrestling move, and pinned her to the floor.

Esmea laid there, staring up at him in shock. Her long, red hair was pulled back in a simple braid that he found quite attractive. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly under a simple leather and mail breastplate; only leather leggings barred her from him.

"Checkmate." Anaru growled and kissed her fiercely.

"I suppose this is where you ravish me." She said with a laugh, already undoing her sword belt.

"Yes, something like that." He replied, hurriedly pulling her leathers down her legs just far enough to reach her.

Anaru thrust deeply into her, relishing how she felt around him. Esmea stroked his neck and kissed his chin as he sated his lust. It didn't take long before the release came.

"Feel better?" She asked as he got off her.

"I'll make it up to you later," Anaru said, noting the slight pout upon the red head's lips. He normally enjoyed the challenge of bringing her to orgasm. He rose and pulled his girlfriend to her feet. "But I need to get back to Ratchet."

"You'd best make it up to me!" Esmea said, pulling her leggings back up and belting them. "You get lost in your head so often; I periodically have to set up a blockade."

He chuckled as he redressed himself, "That was a "blockade?" Seemed more like "_full-scale assault_.""

"Oh, you haven't seen that yet." She replied, brushing the dust off her leathers. "Are you complaining?" The Blood Knight Master undid her braid and shook out her hair to remove some of the debris from the floor of the woodshed. Once she was satisfied, the woman quickly rebraided it. How she could do it so quickly and without a mirror still impressed him.

"Not in the least."


	6. Chapter 6: Bend

**Authors Note:** Sorry for the delay. I just moved into my first apartment and finally got my internet hooked up. ^_^

A huge Thank You to Baroark, KooriRoninHeart, and Rooietroll for the wonderful reviews! They're much appreciated! Your reviews really made my day!

Thanks once again to KooriRoninHeart for beta reading this for me.

**Chapter 6 – Bend**

**

* * *

**The Razorfen was as quiet as a grave. The sun struggled to filter through the dense canes overhead, leaving the canyons dark and cavernous. The paths were dusty and colorless; everything in sight blending together into shades of gray and black.

In a few tunnels bats roosted on nearly every available surface overhead and the ground was thick with guano. Even in the paths without bats, the air was heavy with the stench of ammonia from their leavings. They were careful to avoid the worst paths where the ammonia could possibly reach dangerous levels.

While the undead could likely tolerate the toxic effects of the ammonia, the living could not. Their lungs, eyes, and mucous membranes would be irreparably burnt from breathing it in. Although they all agreed it would be a brilliant strategy if the Cult of the Damned had brought gas masks and hid in these tunnels, they wouldn't likely camp there.

Nothing living and only a handful of weak, mindless undead opposed them. The tunnels were otherwise devoid of life and movement. The structures built by the former Quillboar residents were abandoned and dark.

Una stuck close to Anaru and Hakander, gazing around curiously. She had heard of the Razorfen and read about it, but she had never thought she would see it. If this horrible place had been the Scourge's stronghold in Kalimdor, what was Northrend like? She shuddered at the thought.

A few men and elves muttered alarm as they passed under a large, dead cane hanging by a few woody fibers above their heads. It swayed and creaked ominously in the scant breath of air that made it this deep.

The men were uncharacteristically quiet, obdiently following Anaru and Hakander's orders without even their usual banter. The sting of their recent losses still weighed heavily on all their minds.

The Blood Knights were professional, but aloof. Aside from Esmea, who chatted readily with nearly everyone, very little conversation was made. They were here for a reason and once it was completed, they would go their separate ways. While they were kind enough to her, there was a palpable tension between the elves and humans.

"Here!" One of her troop mates exclaimed and stepped into a tunnel to their left. Una startled at the sound of his voice. Up until now the brown-haired human male had been even more silent than Tallak had been. She'd gotten the impression he was one of the handful of experienced men Anaru had mentioned, but it was easy to forget he was present. She'd never even learned his name.

Una followed as the men entered the tunnel with weapons drawn. The young elf was barely inside when the smell of death greeted her.

Within the dead-end passageway rested the bodies of several Cult of the Damned members. They lay on their bedrolls, blankets pulled up to their throats as if to stay warm while they slept. Una's stomach lurched unhappily as she passed a wooden bucket containing putrid, congealed diarrhea.

Esmea's medic was performing a cursory examination of a female human. The dead woman was curled on her side, her stiffened arms wrapped around herself and her knees drawn up. Dried vomit was crusted around her mouth and upon the scant pillow under her head.

"Initiates, from the garb." Esmea stated tersely, gesturing to the woman's tattered black and purple robe. Blankets were lifted from the other bodies; all were clad in similar robes.

The medic was muttering his findings to himself in Thalassian as he went, his gloved hands never lingering in one place for too long. His emerald eyes were narrowed and his evident dismay was twisting the scars that marred his otherwise handsome face.

"Septic shock?" Una asked when he stood. It was a wild guess, but the cultists certainly looked like they had been gravely ill before they died.

The blond-haired knight nodded, stripped off his filthy surgical gloves, and discarded them in disgust, "Given their current state of decay and without performing a proper autopsy, I can't say for sure. However, septic shock would be my guess as well. Dehydration from the vomiting and diarrhea would be my second guess." He gave an expressive shrug and glanced dispassionately down at the other corpses.

"Makes sense. Even without the Plague of Undeath, Scourge harbor all manner of infections." Hakander said quietly from the entrance. The tunnel was too low to accommodate the towering, bald Draenei.

"Did anyone pick up Ludger's incendiaries?" Anaru asked, looking down once more at the rotting corpses before he turned his gaze to each of them in turn.

"I have them." The Vindicator said, stepping backwards to permit them to leave the tunnel.

"Good." Esmea and Anaru stated simultaneously. They paused to grin at each other before they set about giving orders.

At Esmea's direction, the Blood Knights continued onward up the tunnel. They returned only a short time later, reporting that they had found the main camp but it had been deserted for some time. There were no other corpses, just the foul contamination they tended to leave in their wake.

Anaru raised his voice to address the assembled troops, "Collect anything that burns! Let's not leave the Scourge anything to reanimate later."

Una joined the Knights' medic as he collected dried canes from a refuse pile leftover from the Quillboar. She was always eager to talk with other healers and learn from them. As she drew near, she noted the already pale elf seemed even more pallid.

The young woman laid her hand on his shoulder and muttered a cleansing spell. He startled as the magic rippled through him and then grinned halfheartedly. "Thanks."

"It was nothing..." She said, taking the canes from him so he could check himself. He turned his hands over and pulled his bracers back from his wrists, inspecting them for even the smallest nick where an infection could gain a foothold. "Perhaps it could be airborne too."

"I agree. Perhaps we should cleanse our men as well." He said, casting another cautious glance up at the dead cane above their heads. "Only who knows what we've been exposed to."

"Couldn't hurt." She said in agreement. "I'm Private Una Whitebrook, by the way."

"Bal'a dash, malanore. Sergeant Soren Dawnwalker, at your service." He said smoothly and bowed to her.

Una smiled shyly at him before turning to add the canes into the growing pyre.

Esmea caught her arm as she passed, her expression distinctly wicked. "He likes you." She whispered in a sing-song tone as Una cast a quick cleansing spell on her.

"I only just met him, Emmie!" Una hissed, casting a glance at Sergeant Dawnwalker as he methodically cleansed his fellow Blood Knights first.

"So?" Esmea said, observing as Hakander casually took aim at the hanging cane that had worried Sergeant Dawnwalker moments ago. The men stared at him, giving the branch and the Draenei a wide berth.

The Vindicator threw his shield, light streaking from it like a comet's tail. It struck with a ringing noise she'd never noticed in his previous throws. The heavy cane plummeted to the floor and sent up a cloud of dust.

"Wow!" Una exclaimed as the taller paladin made a noise of approval in her throat. She sneezed several times in succession and hoped there wasn't poison, plague, or other contaminants in the disturbed filth like she'd initially thought.

When the dust cleared, the red haired woman whispered conspiratorially, "Ask him out for drinks later!" Her elegant, scarlet lips pulled into an evil-looking smile, "Who knows! He might be feeling a little… frisky."

"Emmie, I don't make a point of sleeping with strange men." Una hissed and then hurried off to do her share of the cleansing.

She didn't have much to do, Soren was extremely efficient and had most of the men cleansed by the time she made her rounds. She returned to Esmea's side, but thankfully she made no further suggestions or comments. It was bad enough when Soren shot her a playful, suggestive wink as he passed.

The men pushed the heavy cane in front of the tunnel to block it and continued to throw wood, canes, and anything else they could find inside. Una stayed back with Esmea, not quite clear on what her cousin had planned.

"Men." Esmea said sarcastically to Una and put her hands on her hips. "Always over-complicating things." She raised her voice, "We're burning a few corpses, not a military depot!"

"Well, I wouldn't imagine anyone would mind if I burned this place to the ground!" Anaru declared, though he did appear satisfied at the mound of brush and refuse.

"The druids said the green canes won't burn, Beloved." The Blood Knight Master said; her voice had taken on her "off-duty" tone. "The sap will put out the fires."

Her words were disregarded as the men stepped back while Hakander fiddled with the first incendiary. It finally sputtered and the bald paladin gave it a light toss inside. Another couple followed it in. Soon roaring flames were erupting from the tunnel.

Una wrinkled her nose at the stench. Granted there were corpses inside, but the burning waste and brush stunk horribly.

They briskly made their way out as the flames rapidly spread. She had no doubt once it reached its peak the inferno could be seen all the way in Orgrimmar.

They recovered their horses and picked their way to the Gold Road. Anaru had slipped into a dark, pensive mood as they rode back to Ratchet. Esmea had been right: by the time they reached the Crossroads only thin, lazy smoke could be seen on the horizon. That only served to darken her cousin's disposition further.

Thrall's agents were waiting for them when they arrived at noon the following day.

After the debriefing, Anaru had came to her room and asked her to change into something appropriate for practicing. In companionable silence, they walked along the shore until they came upon a small stretch of sandy beach. Given goblin propensity to alter their surroundings and the fact that the shoreline had been rocky until this point, she guessed the sand was brought here.

Once there, Anaru began teaching her stretches and exercises to make her better at dodging opponents.

At first, he reminisced about their grandfather. She could tell he was screwing up his courage to tell her something unpleasant. Then, hesitantly at first, he began to recount his meeting her father while he had been in Stormwind.

"He punched you?" Una exclaimed when he finished, bringing her right leg back under her body to steady herself. While she was used to stretching before sparring or practicing, the stretches Anaru had taught her were unfamiliar. The particular one she was trying was an odd balancing stretch.

"Well, to be fair I probably did bait him somewhat." Anaru grunted as he pressed his groin stretch just slightly deeper. He shrugged his braided hair out of his way and added sardonically, "Seems he doesn't like being called an "asshole." Fancy that."

"No, he doesn't." Una gave a halfhearted titter and played with the sand under her toes. "I once told mother to "Calm the fuck down" – she was tearing into Will over something ridiculously trivial. By the Light, you should have heard her!" She took a deep breath and attempted to emulate her mother's voice, "'The very_ idea_ that my beautiful, intelligent daughter would use such… _filth_ is a slap to the face!'"

Her cousin laughed in turn as he pulled his legs under himself to sit cross-legged. "I don't imagine she calmed herself."

"Not one bit!" Una grinned. "Though she did stop yelling at Will."

He laughed and shot her a feeble smile, "I suppose we shouldn't be taking such enjoyment in tormenting your parents. I can't quite imagine saying _that_ to _my_ father."

Una shrugged and mumbled, "Probably not." She had to admit she tended to push her parents as much as they pushed her. She mentally shook herself and attempted the stretch once more. She quickly lost her balance and sat back down, "I'm too much of a klutz."

"It'll come eventually. Just keep trying." Anaru leaned backwards to retrieve their canteens. "It isn't essential; we elves are already difficult for other races to hit." Sitting up, he tossed her canteen to her and uncorked his own.

Una decided she might as well bring up a question she'd had on her mind. "Anaru, I've been meaning to ask you… are you… umm… Horde now?"

"I'm Argent Dawn." He said, suddenly fascinated in the sand at his feet as he toyed with the cork. She understood it meant he was thinking very carefully about what he was going to say next. "Emmie assures me that I still retain my rank in the Blood Knights and I'm grateful for that. I just… I'm not comfortable with some the Sun Prince's choices."

He paused to take a drink of water. "I supported changing our name to _Sin'dorei _even though I don't consider myself one now. After talking with father and understanding the politics better, I support joining the Horde. But others… not so much."

"The Naaru." Una whispered.

"Yes, M'uru's capture included." He confirmed. "I toured Silvermoon perhaps eight months before they joined the Horde. I saw a great deal of improvement… and I saw a great many horrible choices. Their usage of Fel energy, for example. Look at the mutations demonic blood and energy caused in Orcs and Draenei. There's others; but, in a nutshell I don't feel comfortable in Silvermoon anymore."

"So why not swear fealty to the Alliance then?" She asked curiously.

"I don't feel entirely confident in the Alliance either – again politics." He made an apologetic gesture, "I'll try not to get on my soapbox and keep this brief: Garithos set a tone that I really don't care for. I also don't really care for the fact that history has been rewritten so no one _mentions_ how horribly he treated non-human races – in some books he's left out entirely. For many Alliance citizens, Silvermoon City joined the Horde for no reason." He paused to give an exaggerated sigh of relief, "That's as far as I'm going; unless you want a three hour dissertation."

Una giggled and shook her head.

He rose, motioning for her to join him as he retrieved their wooden practice swords and dropped his canteen out of the way. The elder paladin handed her practice sword to her pommel first and then shook his muscles out.

Una felt a thrill of fear and excitement ripple through her. She had never sparred with Anaru before. She downed the last of her water and tossed the empty canteen out of the way.

"Additionally, ever since the Third War, Silvermoon City has been under Martial Law." He said as they took their positions. "Free speech has been suppressed; dissenters are severely punished. As the eldest son of an influential Magister, I'm especially expected to behave."

They saluted each other and began to circle. Una kept her eyes on the base of his throat, where her peripheral vision could pick up most of his possible movements.

Anaru lunged in and Una immediately brought her practice sword up. He lightly stepped out of range once more. His emerald eyes studied her intently as though he were evaluating her every breath.

He feigned a couple more times before he lashed downwards in a cleave. Una dodged it and counter-attacked, going for his exposed side.

"Good." He said in a predatory growl as he parried and riposted the attack in a forward lunge.

Una managed to counter-parry, her arm stinging with the force of his blow. She was a heartbeat too slow and he used a penetrating step to close distance.

She ducked and rolled out of his way. She came out moving, keeping some distance between them. Going hilt to hilt was bad news with her cousin.

Anaru was bigger, stronger, and had a greater reach than she did. He also had the benefit of learning from Knights under Lord Uther and whatever Grandfather had decided to teach him on a whim.

She knew wrestling was one of those whims, which she was terrible at and Anaru excelled. Attempting to disarm him wouldn't gain her much ground.

He moved in once more, his blade slashing in a quick, horizontal slice. Una stepped backwards and pivoted to move in a different direction. She realized belatedly that the pivot had left her back open to attack for a moment.

"Nice footwork, but that's the second opening you've left me." He said, lunging forward in a series of aggressive attacks.

"I told you I'm a better healer…" Una rasped, using her agility to dodge his attacks rather than parry. She could hear the wooden blade _whistling_ as it sliced through the air. Blocking those without a shield would _hurt_.

Anaru suddenly closed distance, she squeaked in alarm as his practice sword was suddenly at the bridge of her nose.

""_Just because you don't wield a sword doesn't mean you can't die to one."_" The elder paladin quoted. He was finally panting as he lowered his weapon and jerked her in for a brief embrace. "We need to work on closing those gaps. That was three total…"

"Yeah…" Una said breathlessly, but refrained from adding her thoughts: _That's why I'm in a team._

"I'll have you use a shield next time." He declared as he caught his breath. "You kept raising your shield arm like you wanted to block. Good way to break it."

The young woman felt herself blush as he spoke. She hadn't noticed.

"You did well," Her cousin said once more and brushed a bead of sweat from his temple. "I can't stress that enough. I have a bit of an edge… but so will our enemies."

"Speaking of… where do you think the Cult of the Damned went?" Una asked, eager to change the subject.

Anaru didn't answer right away as he mopped his face off with his simple, linen shirt. With a healer's eye, she noted there were fresh bruises on his abdomen leading down under the waistband of his pants.

"Probably back to the Plaguelands." He said as he gathered his things. "They've never been successful at getting much of a foothold in Kalimdor."

They made their way back to the inn to freshen up.

By the time she had cleaned herself up, Una was running late. She quickly splashed some water on her already sweating face and changed into her last set of clean fatigues. She'd sent her other fatigues out to be cleaned and hoped they'd be back by the time they left.

Emmie and Anaru were already waiting for her at the restaurant when she arrived. It was noisy and crowded, but she found them with relative ease. Like most goblin businesses, this establishment was a tasteless hodgepodge of décor all crammed into a domed, stucco building. Each wall had different wallpaper applied to it; the wall behind the bar even had several different wallpapers pasted haphazardly together. She guessed from lively atmosphere that this was one of the better places to eat and socialize.

Emmie rose as she approached and tightly embraced her. Una felt a little envious of her green and gold silk dress. The young woman had brought nothing truly feminine with her aside from her undergarments.

Not long after she arrived, two waiters stepped up to the table with drinks and a large platter of assorted appetizers. The male waiter asked, "Yo! You ordered Appetizer Platter Number One, the Bloody Scary, another Thunderbrew Forty-Five, and the Screaming Orgasm?"

"Oh yes! Thank you!" Emmie said cheerfully. The goblins slid the glasses and platter onto the table and the Blood Knight tossed them a few coins.

Una examined Emmie's wine flute, curious about the black and red drink. She then turned her attention to the cocktail glass that had been placed in front of her and scrutinized the creamy concoction. The waiter had called it a _Screaming Orgasm_. She took a careful sip and was delighted when the flavors of rich cream, mageroyal, decadent dark chocolate, and coffee met her palate.

"Go easy!" The lady knight warned as Una took another eager sip, "That has vodka in it. It will sneak up on you fast." She took a sip of her own drink and looked impressed, "Ooh! That is very nice."

"What's in yours?" Una asked and then took a bite from one of the appetizers. With the lush flavors of her drink still on her tongue, it took her a moment to register the rich paté on the cracker was salmon.

"I think a dark rum and orange juice..." Emmie said thoughtfully and then added, "Not sure what else I'm tasting. Perhaps a licorice vodka… Anaru – don't do that!"

"What?" He chuckled, flicked the salt shaker away from him, and took a long swig from his ale mug.

"He put salt in his ale, didn't he?" Una grinned. "Grandfather used to do that _all the time_."

"I imagine that's a _faux pas_ in Ironforge…" Her cousin's girlfriend made a face and scooped up a chocolate covered strawberry. "Perhaps even cause for a bar fight."

"Probably." The brown haired man said, helping himself to a Springpaw appetizer. "At the very least a few dirty looks."

"How long have you been going out again?" Una asked curiously after taking another sip of her drink.

"Three years," Anaru stated, studying the tray of appetizers closely. "But we've only been overtly courting each other in the last year." He helped himself to a small chunk of roasted meat on a skewer and then to a small, tender chunk of grilled pork on an equally small slice of bread.

"He's been introducing me _slowly_." Emmie said, taking a delicate bite from a cracker topped with a bit of odd, white cheese. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes as she savored the flavor before continuing, "His father is an absolutely wonderful man but Great Aunt Nariel made me start contemplating my decisions…"

Una eyed her cousin in surprise, "You introduced her to Auntie Nariel? You're a brave man."

"She had a right to know the insanity she'll be marrying into." Anaru said after swallowing his mouthful of pork and bread. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and placed it back in his lap, "Though I was pleasantly surprised: At least she didn't ask if Emmie was pregnant or when the baby was due."

The young paladin cackled as Emmie stuck her tongue out at Anaru. He winked at her and then drained his tankard. A barmaid passing by deftly swapped his empty mug for a full one and continued her rounds.

"Oh, try that one!" Anaru said in excitement as he finished putting salt in his ale, pointing to the tray.

Emmie put her wine flute down quickly and admonished, "Anaru, be nice to her."

"This one?" Una selected a cracker with an odd swirl of white cheese on it and her cousin nodded. She studied the appetizer thoughtfully. It was the same variety she'd seen Emmie eat just a moment ago. The cracker seemed very primitive and rough, browned unevenly around the edges like it had been baked over an open flame. The cheese was oddly grainy, yet creamy. It smelled delicious. "So what is it?"

Her cousin's eyes sparkled impishly as he said "Troll cheese" at the same time Emmie said "Best not to ask."

The red haired knight glared at Anaru as he leaned in and whispered deviously, "There's _maggots_ in it!"

"No, there aren't, Una." Emmie said firmly in her Blood Knight tone of voice. "He's pulling your leg."

Una glanced between them, suddenly unsure. Anaru was treating her to his biggest and best grin. He used to be infamous for claiming a new food was something revolting. He'd once claimed cream style corn was monkey vomit and Brewfest sausages were pig feces. She eyed him once again, wondering how much ale he'd consumed before she arrived to be this drunk and immature already. While she'd just eaten an appetizer just like the one she held, Emmie was a complete unknown to her.

Just then, she noted movement in the cheese. There was something minuscule _moving_ in the pale swirl. As her eyes struggled to focus, realization sunk in. With a shriek, the appetizer went sailing across the room.

Anaru guffawed. Emmie pressed a hand to her face.

"By the Light! There really were maggots in that?" Una exclaimed shrilly as she jumped to her feet. She cast her gaze from the table to the direction she had thrown the cracker.

Emmie nodded, not taking her hand from her face. Anaru was still chortling, squeaking as he laughed more than he breathed. Una covered her face with her hands and blushed as she realized the restaurant had fallen silent and she was being stared at. Without a second look, a waiter swept the appetizer into a dustbin.

"You should have seen your face!" He finally managed to sputter in a high pitched voice, patting her on the back after she'd sank back down to her chair, mortified.

Emmie put her hand down and took a deep sip of her drink. "Anaru, I prefer my friends remain _ignorant_ until I know they can get over the idea of eating maggots. It really is quite good and _completely harmless_."

The restaurant had returned to full volume, the incident forgotten just as quickly as it had happened. Now that she was calming down, she found the situation was somewhat funny. However, she decided it would be best not to encourage Anaru. He was still laughing, even minutes after the fact.

"If you weren't _phenomenal_ in bed when you're this drunk, I'd say it would be just you and your hand tonight." The Blood Knight said hotly. "Una, he's had more than enough ale for one night, if you'd please."

Una tugged his ale mug over to her and was about to wave for the waiter to take it away when their dinner emerged from the kitchen. The young woman stared with slack jaw as the waiter sat a plate of moist pulled pork with a velvety sauce and grilled vegetables before her.

"Orcish barbeque: If you ever get a chance, order some in Orgrimmar. They serve the meat raw and provide seasonings and vegetables. Then you cook it _yourself_." Emmie said cheerfully as she sliced into a perfectly cooked steak. "Sounds primitive by our standards, but it is _so_ good."

Una delicately sliced a strip of her pulled pork and took a bite. It was moist, flavorful, and utterly delicious. The sauce had a bite to it, but she couldn't identify what would give it the flavor.

Anaru had chosen a pork shank with grilled corn. With difficulty, he was attempting to use the provided knife to slice off a serving. He was shredding more than he was cutting. She noted Emmie staring at him apprehensively and was glad she wasn't the only one doubting his coordination right now. The Blood Knight finally took it from him and sliced off two portions. Noticeably, the knife was laid across the red-head's plate and away from her cousin.

"They must have expected an army." Una noted, glancing over the portion sizes. While she would admit to being ravenous, she wasn't sure she could finish.

"Orc physiology requires more meat in their diet than humans or elves." Emmie remarked, "Take any leftovers back to the inn… I'm sure the men will make short work of it."

She hadn't realized Anaru had reclaimed his tankard until he sat the empty mug down upon the table with a contented belch. Or perhaps she was just that tipsy on her own drink. She couldn't be sure. Instead, she decided to ignore him and enjoy her grilled vegetables.

Emmie and Anaru eventually excused themselves and made their way back to his room. If the bruises she'd spotted on Anaru's torso were any indication, there wouldn't be much sleeping tonight. The young woman wasn't all that eager to listen to them through the thin walls of the inn.

Una sat and enjoyed the last of her drink, in no real hurry to go back to her room. She sensed someone watching her and eventually spotted Soren Dawnwalker staring intently at her.

She waved him over; feeling eager for company. At the very least, it would be a fun way to spend the remainder of the evening.

Soren and the other Blood Knights were gone by the time she woke up in Soren's room that morning, but he'd left a rose and the keys to the room on the bedside table for her. A simple, light painkiller took care of her very mild hangover.

Anticipating that her cousin would have an epic hangover, she made her way through the pre-dawn Ratchet streets in search of an apothecary. She found one near the pier, a troll woman who knew what she wanted after a brief description. Apparently, Hiram's hangover recipe wasn't that unique.

For a few silver, the female had jotted down a simple recipe for her, which she took back to the inn and quickly put together.

Una had just finished when Anaru eased himself down the stairs, holding his head. Despite hearing him violently gag up in his room once already, he looked like he might throw up again.

Seeing him with a hangover this awful didn't sit right with her, even though she knew he'd done it to himself. Una gazed down at the sickening, bronze-colored concoction in the shot glass between her hands and hoped she'd made it correctly.

"Good morning, Cousin!" She called to him sweetly.

Anaru pinned her with a dirty look, his eyes clearly bloodshot even from a distance. She ignored the glare and waved the glass at him. "I have just what you need!"

"Thank the Light…" He said hoarsely, looking relieved as he eagerly accepted the glass.

"You might want to hold your nose –!" She yelped as he bolted it down. He started to ferociously cough and dry heaves soon followed. "Bucket! Quick!" She yelled to the innkeep. A grimy, bronze spittoon was kicked her way and she brought it up just in time for her cousin to retch into.

"Nice catch." The innkeeper commented drolly, wrinkling his nose as he followed the maid upstairs. Anaru took the vessel from her, gagged, and spat into it gloomily.

"Bet your room smells nice." Una commented as she kicked a chair out from the table she was sitting at. Anaru flinched and paled from the noise but collapsed into it gratefully, "Eau de Brewfest. With aromas of sex, partially-digested ale, and vomit."

Anaru groaned, "You can shush now, smartass…" The muscular elf leaned forward to put his head between his knees and coughed a couple times. "By the Light, this is why I don't drink…" He said softly, more to himself than to her.

"I can make more, if you'd like." She was glad this wasn't a side of her cousin she would likely see often. "It really does help."

"No, thank you. I think I'll suffer." He moaned, not rising from his hunched position. "It'll serve to remind me."

Una bit her lip, gazing down at him. She felt awful for bringing it up when he felt this terrible, but soon enough they'd have an audience if she didn't. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, she pressed forward, "…Anaru, are you sure you're doing the right thing with Emmie?"

His back rose and fell as he heaved a sigh. She knew he was reading between her words and probably coming up with the awkward thing she really wanted to ask. He sighed once more, this time in disappointment.

She squirmed in her chair. Damn Anaru for being so _calm_. She could take his anger; if he bellowed and screamed in the same tone and volume Captain Backbreaker used until Ratchet trembled. That sigh hit her like a punch to the stomach.

"You don't know her like I do, Una." He finally said so softly she could barely hear him. Then he sat upright. His face was fixed in the same unyielding, no-nonsense look his father used to give when he wanted someone to _stop_ whatever they were doing _right now_. His voice was gentle and even as he continued, "I love her."


	7. Chapter 7: Chasing Ghosts

**Authors Note: **I'd like to thank KooriRoninHeart, goldfished, Rooietroll for the wonderful reviews. As usual, your reviews made my day. Thank you! ^_^

Thanks again to KooriRoninHeart for beta reading this for me! Love you, Sis!

**Chapter 7 – Chasing Ghosts**

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* * *

**It was raining in Duskwood when they arrived around nightfall several weeks later. Velvet blackness surrounded them like a shroud, muffling some noises while enhancing others. The woods were alive with the cries of nocturnal animals and the chirping of crickets.

Una sucked in a quiet breath as a Worgen howled in the distance. A small owl startled from the branches of a nearby tree before flying away on silent wings. The night cries fell silent, as though the animals were holding their breaths.

Vesper was swishing his tail rapidly and the muscles in his flanks quivered. She leaned forward in the saddle and patted his neck in reassurance. Her charger settled down, though he continued to swivel his ears intently.

The brown haired elf had found this forest disquieting even before the foul corruption had taken hold. She never liked having to patrol these darkened country roads. There was something a little off about the forest, though what it was she couldn't put her finger on.

With this mission, she had learned another reason to dislike these roads. Their objective was to attempt to hunt down the Black Riders of Dead Wind Pass. Hiram had always said the Riders were a product of drink, gossip, and hysteria; and, she agreed with her mentor. With a strong Defias presence in nearly every province, Kurzen's rebels to the south, Blackrock Orcs and Dark Iron Dwarves to the north, Gnolls, and a couple Ogre mounds, there was no lack of more logical culprits. Hallows End was especially a popular time for sightings, but the conclusion had usually been local teenagers pulling a prank.

Hakander and Anaru had informed her they were real and quite possibly Death Knights. Una found that prospect absolutely chilling. Two nightmares had suddenly crawled out of the dark recesses of Azeroth and were very, very _real_. Even worse was the guilt that gnawed at her during the entire voyage. She'd done her best to assure citizens their spouses and children were safe and had even gone as far as to accuse others of making the whole thing up.

Unable to find other means of transportation, they had been forced to book passage with the merchant vessel, _Lady of Stromgarde_. The voyage was uneventful, though far slower than they would have liked.

A cold shiver went down Una's back as a raindrop managed to fall down her collar. The elf woman miserably pulled the hood of her oiled wool cloak further over her head. She longed for the bath-water rainstorms of her childhood. The steady downpour that fell this evening was cold and penetrated to her core. The other men looked no happier as huddled in their saddles. Winter was probably going to be early and hard this year; yet another prospect she wasn't particularly eager to see.

Darkshire was bustling with activity when they arrived. The village militia, the Night Watch, was on high alert. While initially cautious, they seemed relieved when they saw the Crest of the Argent Dawn.

"Argent Dawn Unit Fifty-Six?" A young, black haired, human female asked as they dismounted in front of the Town Hall. She had the air of someone who was used to being in charge.

"Yes, Ma'am. I am Commander Whitebrook." Anaru said, touching the fingers of his right hand to his forehead. "Commander Ebonlocke, I presume?"

"You are correct." She replied tersely, giving him a brief bow. "Though we expected you _sooner_." Displeasure and fatigue colored the woman's tone.

"My apologies, Commander, we had difficulties along the way." Anaru said regretfully. "What's your current status?"

"Fortunately nothing since we requested assistance." The woman replied, her voice still clipped. "Help from Stormwind, as usual, isn't forthcoming." Her tone and body language with second sentence carried a clear message that she wasn't surprised nor expecting help.

"I presume the traveler has recovered and left the area?" Anaru asked tolerantly. "The communique didn't give us much to go on."

Commander Ebonlocke nodded, "Left right away actually. Night Elf Druid. Didn't seem to be injured too badly, but she didn't stick around either."

Anaru grunted in his throat in displeasure. "We'll set up watch patterns and patrols along the major roads. Please let us know if you receive anything more."

Hakander, who had been silent the entire time, muttered tetchily in his native tongue as her cousin continued talking with Commander Ebonlocke. She had a vast laundry list of supernatural complaints and Anaru seemed to be patiently listening. Noting her curious gaze the Draenei issued her a shrug and beckoned her towards the inn with a clear "ladies first" gesture.

The Scarlet Raven Tavern was just as she remembered back when patrols came this far into the outlying areas, though perhaps slightly more dilapidated. Cobwebs hung from the beams along the ceiling and stirred with the gust of wind from the door. Una carefully slipped her sodden hood off her head and examined those inside. The place was mostly empty. Only a few locals partaking in cheap moonshine and a group of teenage humans playing cards.

The Tavernkeeper took their cloaks from them and hung them in the cellar to dry. However, that didn't help with her soaked clothing.

Tired and chilled to her core, Una climbed up on the high-set hearth and leaned back against the bricks of the fireplace. There were more men than chairs, so Hakander settled next to her, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the wall.

"No alcohol!" Hakander growled warningly as some of the men waved the barmaid over. "We're on duty!"

"Just orderin' some hot cocoa…" One of the men said – Una couldn't tell who –and the sentiment was quickly echoed. Una raised her hand as well. Something warm to drink sounded absolutely divine. Hakander nodded to the Tavernkeep who had hurried over and relaxed once again.

"As soon as the Commander finishes collecting details, we will sort into groups." The bald paladin remarked, "Would you like to remain here or be placed in a more central location for tonight?"

"It's after dark!" Una looked at the Draenei in consternation. After Duskwood's darkening, the unspoken rule among the guards had been _'Never travel in Duskwood after dark.'_

"Private, _night_ is the only time where we might get to the bottom of this." Hakander replied good-naturedly. "I do not have to ask for your opinion."

Una frowned deeply and twirled an errant lock of her brown hair around her index finger. She had never learned what rank Hakander was. He was always addressed as "Vindicator" which she had learned was more or less a Draenei title for a paladin-warrior. She wasn't sure how freely could – or should – speak to him.

"I'm a strong rider." She said at length and stared at him, attempting to weigh his reaction. The bald paladin was frowning thoughtfully as she spoke, but didn't seem displeased. "You might make better use of me on the road…"

He made a reflective noise in his throat and stroked his chin with his fingers. "Suppose someone is wounded. Where would our Medic be found?"

Una sighed heavily. He made a valid point; she just wished it didn't involve putting her out of the action. "Put me where you think I'll be most useful then." She said dolefully.

"Lady," Hakander leaned over and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I assure you, not all missions end in a Pyrrhic victory or feel as futile as these." He eyed the barmaid as she started passing out the hot cocoas. "For this mission, I fear you will need to be left out."

Just then, their hot cocoas arrived. Hakander waved casually as Una went for her coin purse to indicate he would pay. She muttered her thanks and received a nod from the Draenei in response.

Una took her earthenware mug and savored the warmth the radiated through the pottery and into her still-chilled hands. She only briefly admired the whipped cream with a dusting of cinnamon floating on top before she sucked it off the surface. With a slight giggle, she dabbed it from the tip of her nose with her napkin.

"If it eases your mind," The Vindicator remarked, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Enjoy being warm and dry while the rest of us freeze our balls off."

Una giggled. Hakander's candor was surprising; he usually never spoke in quite that manner. His thick accent only made the statement funnier to her.

After nearly two hours, Anaru finally came in. He looked cold and drenched but oddly triumphant as well. His brown hair was plastered to his skull and reddened ears, as though he had his hood down the entire time. "I've secured waterproof riding gear; be sure you pick it up before you leave. We'll be dealing with a problem for the Carevins in exchange for the equipment." He announced without preamble. "Vindicator Hakander, do you have our riding assignments?"

"Aye," He said as he stood. Una only half listened as he rattled off three teams of men. It didn't make sense to be upset about being left behind, but she couldn't deny she was slightly perturbed either. "Private Whitebrook will remain here. Dutton, Ellerton are our odd men."

Outside, the village dogs began barking and howling ferociously. Through the window facing the main road, she could see members of the Night Watch gathering under a lamp across the street. There was no mistaking the readied crossbows. Una had a feeling that Hakander was right; this was going to be the best way to hunt for the riders. The young woman pulled her knees up and hugged them to herself as a shiver of anxiety ran down her spine.

Anaru nodded, satisfied with group assignments and unfurled a map of the region. While it was a map Una had looked at many times in the past, she'd never thought too much about the size of the region or the huge number of remote stretches of road. It was nowhere near as daunting as the Barrens, but they would be spread thin nonetheless.

"Dutton and Ellerton will remain in town to monitor activity on the road to Dead Wind Pass." Her cousin was saying, "The elevation climbs steeply after the village outskirts and that road is the _only_ way into the pass from here." He cast a long look at the two men to emphasize his point.

"Remember, the Black Riders are likely Death Knights." Hakander added. "Be cautious in melee."

Her cousin went on to assign specific stretches of the main thoroughfares to each unit. Hakander's team would take roads north of town, while Anaru's would take the crossroads south and west of town, and finally Sergeant McCall – she was thankful she finally had a name to attach to the quiet human – would take the far west near Raven Hill.

Hakander took the floor once again to discuss strategies for dealing with Death Knights should they need to engage in close combat. He seemed to be well-versed in fighting Death Knights and Una made a mental note to ask her cousin about the Draenei after the mission.

The High Elf woman listened intently, trying to memorize where they would be and compare it to her knowledge of the area.

It would all make a difference if anyone came back wounded. The worgs didn't bother them as much as the spiders and worgen. Southern Black Widow, Southern Carrion Recluse, and Green Recluse spiders were bad enough when they were the size of the tip of her finger. Whatever had spawned the darkness here had caused the spiders to grow to the size of a considerably large dog. Seconds would count if she had to administer anti-venom.

Una felt eyes on them and heard an almost inaudible snicker over the pleasant crackle of the fire.

The young woman scanned the tavern for the source. The teenage human boys were turned around in their seats, staring intently at Anaru and Hakander. Periodically, heads would come together and they would talk in hushed whispers.

Una felt her face deepen into a scowl. Nothing good came from behavior like that. The debriefing was wrapping up, Anaru was down to patiently answering the few questions the men had.

"Excellent; let's move out." Anaru said once there were no further questions and the debriefing was officially concluded.

The men filtered out into the night. Anaru returned briefly and laid her own waterproof gear over a chair for her.

The boys were now talking in excited, quiet whispers interspersed with snickers and barely contained laughs. Periodically, their voices would rise in excitement over something another had said.

Every instinct she'd developed as a guard told her this was about her unit. She stalked quietly over to the table.

Una slammed her palms down onto the table.

The teenage humans startled and stared up at her with wide, alarmed eyes.

She lowered voice and allowed it to take on the same tone she used to use when she was a Stormwind City Guard, "Don't even think about it."

One of the youths, a young man with dirty blond hair in a reddened, acne covered face conspicuously looked her up and down. She knew this type. The primary things on his mind at the moment were "_Boobs_."

"Think about what… _ma'am_?" One of the youths said, his eyes fixed on her chest as well. His voice hadn't finished changing and cracked as he spoke. He was a rail thin boy with a sallow complexion and artificially blackened hair. He finally looked up at her face with an expression of innocence she knew far too well.

"Actually, I think you do." Una said with a slight, feminine lilt. She lowered her voice to as menacing a tone as she could muster, "We are not here to play games. Do not trifle with us; you will get hurt."

They snickered and cast expressive looks at one another.

Una swallowed her temper and said more calmly than she actually was, "You have been warned."

She turned and walked out before they could reply. Confronting them didn't get her anywhere. Without the trappings and badge of a Stormwind City Guard she was now just a pretty female and a female elf at that.

"Commander Whitebrook!" She called to her cousin as she stepped into the rain. The wind had picked up and she found herself glad she would be warm tonight. The men were saddled and clad in their waterproof gear, looking more like travelers and farmers than a band of fighters. Her cousin was already mounted.

"Yes, Private Whitebrook?" Anaru said as she paused to salute. He looked more like a hunter in his drab coat and slouched hat. There was even a weathered crossbow slung across his back. He'd tucked his ears under the hat, but it would still be clear he was an elf.

Una waved them in close and noted the boys leaving the tavern. She inclined her head at their retreating forms, "Those boys? I think they're planning something. Probably a prank."

"Did you attempt to dissuade them?" Hakander asked, narrowing his glowing eyes as they went out of sight.

"Yes, but I lack a penis therefore I lack authority." Una stated bitterly.

Anaru smiled sympathetically, "Thank you, Private. Gentlemen, you heard her! Keep your head up, we likely have interference incoming." He raised his voice to the closest Watcher, "Watcher Ladimore? Might we have a word, please?"

"Drink some hot cocoa for me." Hakander grunted as he swung into the saddle.

Una retreated to the warmth of the Tavern once again and ordered a room. Even in the scant minute she spent outside warning her unit about the teens she was once again drenched.

As a room was readied, she could see Dutton and Ellerton setting up Argent Dawn standards around the square. Anyone who came to town would know they were there. She wasn't sure how good a strategy that was, but wasn't about to question it either.

They gave her the largest room and she noted cots lined up in the sitting room outside the bed chamber for the rest of her unit.

She changed into one of her dry, clean sets of fatigues, brushed her hair out and put it in a loose braid to finish drying. She then busied herself with mending the small holes that had appeared in her other sets of fatigues when they were returned before she left Ratchet. When she was finished, she reorganized her medical kit and then her bags.

It was nearly three in the morning when a shout sounded from outside. Una ran to the window, but saw nothing. She took the stairs down three at a time, surprising herself by not falling.

Private Ellerton was picking himself off of the muddy cobblestones when she reached the door. His horse was galloping between the homes, Dutton in hot pursuit.

"Are you okay?" She yelled over the wind. She hoped he hadn't fallen asleep in the saddle.

"I'm fine; horse spooked!" The dark haired human called tersely back to her. He jogged for the door and came inside. Even with the waterproof gear, his clothes were saturated. The human's hands were pale and clammy as he cupped them to his mouth and blew into them. "Shit, that's cold," he panted.

"Think the Commander will abort the mission?" She asked.

"Naw," He said, running a hand through his waterlogged beard. Private Dutton was trotting up to the Tavern on his horse, leading Ellerton's behind him. He lowered his voice, "Betcha anything the Riders are out there somewhere."

Another shout echoed in the darkness. They gazed warily into the darkness as a mounted figure stopped to talk to a Watcher on the far side of the Square. Una felt her stomach drop as he was pointed to them.

A balding human male approached at a canter and exclaimed, "Are one of you a healer?"

"I am!" Una responded.

"Oh! Thank the Light!" The human groaned, "You gotta help me, ma'am! It's my little girl, she's sick!"

"Where is she?" Una asked, "How sick are we talking?"

"Back at my farm!" His voice was anguished, "I ain't seen no one this sick since I left Lordaeron! Please, ma'am!"

Una sucked in her breath. This sounded life-threatening. As far as she was concerned, anyone who'd seen the Plague knew what "serious" truly was. "Of course I'll help! Let me get my things!" Una said hurriedly. The human shouted his thanks as she ran inside to get her armor, waterproof gear, and her medical kit.

Private Dutton had already retrieved Vesper for her and had him ready. Like Ellerton's charger, her horse clearly had a case of nerves too. Vesper's muscles were tense and he was swishing his tail in agitation.

Private Ellerton stared with open mouth. "But the Commander's orders were…" He stammered.

"Orders be damned!" Una and Dutton yelled simultaneously as she fastened her medical kit to the saddle.

"If anyone's injured, I'll do what I can." Dutton said hurriedly once Una had mounted.

"Thanks!" Una said, "If the Commander returns before I'm back, please…"

"Hurry!" Dutton barked.

"Right! Let's go!" Una yelped to the human and they were off, galloping down the darkened country road, headed north. She hoped she'd pass Hakander's team so she could let them know.

"When did she start showing signs of illness?" Una shouted to the farmer over the wind.

"My dumb hound, he takes off after rabbits all the time," He replied, "My girl's the only one who can catch him. She came home with a fever and started throwing up right after dinner. She's been getting worse all evening! She had welts all over when I left!"

She didn't see Hakander's team before they turned down a country lane. They eventually came to a small farm along the banks of the river, just beyond the point where the darkening ceased. Una dismounted hurriedly, pulled her medical kit from her bag, and ran after the farmer towards the house.

She glanced at the dog house as they ran inside, noting the still animal inside. Most farm dogs in Stormwind's provinces were trained and encouraged to bark when a stranger approached the property as an early warning. A thrill of fear ran through her. Did the child contract something from the family dog?

It was a typical, tiny farmhouse with a sleeping loft for the children and the parent's bed and small living area on ground floor. A couple small heads with wide, frightened eyes gazed down at her from above. Ignoring the gasp of alarm from the farmer's wife, she flung herself beside the bed.

"It's okay, love. She's a healer with the Argent Dawn!" The farmer said behind her as he drew his wife back to give her room. "Let her work."

A little girl with light brown hair lay gasping and feverish under the quilt; she guessed her to be about eight to ten years old. Una snapped on a pair of gloves, draped her stethoscope around her neck, and pressed a hand to her forehead. She gasped in alarm as she felt how hot the child's flesh was. The girl's fever was far, far too high and she wasn't sweating either. She yanked back the covers and saw weeping blisters covering the child's body. Una tentatively brushed a blister and a sickening smell filled the air.

She didn't need her medical training to tell her this wasn't natural.

"Hang on, Sweetie!" Una said, petting her hair to try to soothe her. She called on the Light and cast it into the child as a cleansing spell. The little girl actually bucked as Una's spell hit her. She started to cry weakly, holding her arms out to her agonized parents, and bawling for them.

This was magic. She could feel it resisting her. It took her three more attempts before she finally broke it.

Una held her breath as she took the child's vitals. She released it as the little girl's heartbeat, pulse, and respiration dramatically improved.

"Is… she going to be okay?" The mother asked hopefully.

"I think so. That was Dark Magic… I'm sure of it." Una stroked the girl's hair away from her face, slightly dizzy in relief. Her skin was still felt hot to the touch, but now it felt like a normal high fever. "What did you get into?" She asked the little girl in a soft voice, but she was crying too hard to respond.

Una cast her best healing spells to mend the little body. She administered a fever reducer and rubbed some ointment on the sores. Finally, she moved backwards to let her parents comfort her. She sat back at the small table, thinking about what she'd just witnessed.

The memory of the quiet, still dog plagued her. Dogs just didn't do that in these parts; they slept lightly and barked at the drop of a hat.

"Thank you, Lady! Thank you!" The farmer said after a few minutes with tears in his eyes. "How can we ever repay you?"

"No need." Una said, holding up her hands as she rose to her to feet. "Your thanks are more than enough. Please be sure to have a doctor or healer look at her later. I fear can't stay long." Something about this didn't make sense. She had to check the dog. "I think will, however, go have a look at your dog."

The farmer nodded, "His doghouse is right outside the barn."

"Yes, I saw it when we rode in." Una said and stepped back out into the rain.

Vesper was standing stock still, facing the direction of the road. Every muscle in his body was tense. The pale stallion's ears were pricked, listening intently. She sucked in a breath when she realized she hadn't secured him to anything. However, her charger hadn't moved from where she'd dismounted. The farmer's horse was nowhere to be seen.

Somewhere in the distance came a bizarre, unearthly but decidedly equine scream.

Una sidestepped cautiously, feeling for her mace. Vesper followed her, his ears now pinned to his head. Casting a nervous glance at her horse, she knelt beside the dog house and peered inside. The small hound dog hadn't moved. She cautiously reached inside and placed her hand upon the animal.

It was dead.

Vesper suddenly stepped over her, his ears pinned and his lips curled back from his teeth. From between his legs, Una spun as a rider approached.

She managed to grasp the saddle as Vesper charged forward. With gritted teeth, she heaved herself up. She was barely seated when he reared and then spun to kick at the rider. She saw a flash of naked steel. Una's grip broke and tumbled off onto the muddy field.

More riders were approaching, bearing down upon them fast. A bolt of light lashed the figure still attempting to evade her charger and her attacker fled.

"After him!" Hakander bellowed in a tone and volume that would have made Captain Backbreaker proud. He wheeled his horse around and looked at her, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Vesper was trotting back to her, breathing hard. Una swung into the saddle, "Trying to save a life! You?"

"Nevermind!" The Draenei thundered, "After them!"

Una kicked Vesper into a gallop and joined the chase.

The rider was swerving between the trees, barely visible in the velvet gloom. Cold barbs of rain and Vesper's soaked mane painfully lashed her unprotected face.

They rounded a tight bend and suddenly Hakander had to swerve to avoid another mounted rider. They jostled a moment before the rider broke free, jumped a fence, and tore off in another direction.

Suddenly a rider was beside her, stride for stride even with her own horse. Una yelped in alarm, but no attack came.

Anaru swore violently, looked her up and down, and then yelled, "They probably lured Dutton and Ellerton away too!"

Una felt her blood freeze. Of course! She was a healer; a sick child would be irresistible _bait_. She moaned. Had she barely escaped a trap?

They were suddenly at the main road again. They'd been led in a circle and were now racing towards Darkshire. The flickering lanterns along the road raced by, making her feel like they were in a tunnel.

The second rider was visible again, riding parallel to the road.

Suddenly, the first rider turned and charged. At the last moment, he veered away and vanished into the now rising fog. As Una gasped for breath and reined Vesper in, she realized the second rider was gone as well.

Unearthly equine screams echoed in the distance from all around them. She couldn't tell what direction it was coming from.

"They're toying with us!" Hakander snarled, frantically scanning the fog shrouded trees.

"I know!" Anaru retorted with a yell.

Una turned in her saddle and gazed up the road that eventually led to Westfall. Somewhere in that direction was McCall's team. The fog was rising unnaturally fast and visibility was dropping at an alarming rate.

Suddenly Una was ripped from her saddle. She struck the cobblestones hard and bounced twice before skidding to a stop.

Shouts exploded in the night, steel clashed, and hooves rang like thunder. Strobe-like flashes of light dazzled her as the men unleashed their paladin spells. Una covered her head with her arms and pulled her legs in to protect herself as horses reeled around her.

Seizing an opening, she lunged into the ditch beside the road and rolled under the fence.

The attackers broke away suddenly, galloping off into the night.

Shocked that Vesper was still there, Una jumped to her feet, climbed the fence, and bolted for him. She attempted swung into the saddle once again, but her charger wheeled away from her as yet another of those odd, equine screams echoed in the fog.

"Let them go!" Anaru barked, grasping Vesper by the bridle.

Una looked at him in shock, still trying to catch her breath.

"Sir!" Hakander rumbled.

"They're meant to distract us!" Anaru barked, "We aren't going to catch them!"

Una took a deep breath and this time managed to mount her horse without incident. Vesper trembled and panted beneath her, foam dripping from his muzzle.

"Vindicator Hakander's team will ride down and give the recall orders to Sergeant McCall's team!" Anaru ordered, "The rest of you will return to Darkshire with me!"

"Commander, I left my medical supplies at a local farm. A child was infected with some sort of magical illness…" Una said hurriedly.

"Very well!" Anaru interrupted her gruffly. "Move out!"

They made it back to the farm without confrontation. Whoever their attackers were, they must have realized her unit wasn't going to continue the pursuit.

The family was shaken and understandably frightened, but otherwise fine. Satisfied all was well, Anaru warned them to bar their doors and windows and to stay inside.

They arrived back in Darkshire as the first rays of dawn started to cut through the clouds and fog. Dutton and Ellerton reappeared about a half hour after they returned and Hakander's and McCall's teams after a couple hours. All reported an equally frustrating chase.

The men took the cots in the sitting room and allowed Una the bed. It was afternoon before she woke. Thankfully, the sun was out and it appeared to be a warmer day than the one before.

Anaru was in the sitting room examining his map and looking haggard. He was clearly frustrated as he repeatedly rubbed his face and twisted his freckled face in a scowl.

"So what's the damage?" Una asked tentatively, taking a seat beside him. She observed a few men still dozing on their cots and kept her voice low.

"Three Night Elves attacked but no fatalities, Dutton and Ellerton responded. Your sick child." He had marked red X's on the map to indicate skirmishes and green arrows roughly outlining the paths the chase took. Anaru gave a frustrated shrug, "And all of us led on a merry chase."

"No one else was hurt, were they?" She asked, but Anaru shook his head much to her relief. So far, the only known casualty was the little girl who would quickly recover. "So no clue what they were after?"

"Not a fucking clue." He replied and then sighed deeply. A length of his long, brown hair fell in front of his face and he brushed it away absently, "Nothing taken; no bodies. I'm almost willing to wager _we_ were the point of that stunt. Take out our healer, scatter our forces, and pick us off."

"It's a sound strategy, if you think about it." Una winced. She figured was lucky then to have escaped the trap at the farm. She wouldn't have known how to fight an enemy like this. "If a little brazen…"

Anaru nodded and said, "It doesn't quite fit their M.O., but this is the fifth time this year we've responded. They probably decided we were too great a threat. Anyway, you were on the receiving end of a _Death Grip _last night. How are you feeling?"

"A few cuts, bruises, and a mild headache." Una replied, "Nothing I haven't experienced before. Are we out again tonight?"

"No." Anaru shook his head. His hair once again fell in front of his face and he swept it away once more. "We'll set up a perimeter around the village tonight and ride out to Karazhan tomorrow."

"Karazhan? The tower?" Una blinked. "But Medvih is dead, what do you expect to find there?"

"One theory is that the riders are based there. I want to see if I can find evidence on the grounds." Anaru stated, pulling his hair back and securing it in his usual low ponytail. "Besides, we need to take care of a few demons for the Carevins. A little salve for our egos." He grinned wolfishly.


	8. Chapter 8: The Long Road

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the wait. I suffered from a massive bout of writer's block on this chapter! For the sake of moving on, I took a bit of artistic license with this chapter. The lore isn't entirely accurate. I hope it doesn't detract too much.

Thank you to KooriRoninHeart for being my beta reader! Love you, Sis!

Also thank you to everyone who added me to their favorite's list! It is much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 8 – The Long Road**

Una dove and tumbled out of the way of Anaru's divine storm. The magical attack stung her leather clad legs as she brushed the edges.

She scrambled to her feet and darted back in.

As he brought his practice sword up, she slapped him with her shield as hard as she could. He hesitated.

Una rapped him in the side with her own wooden blade before he could deflect the attack.

Her cousin responded with an vicious slash she barely managed to deflect herself. She countered and lashed him with Holy Shock for good measure.

Anaru yelped in pain and surprise, but his face then returned to a stoic expression. She knew she was in trouble when he looked like that.

He drove in hard, hammering her like a battering ram. Her arms throbbed as she went on the defensive, doing her best not to let him through her guard. Tired of it, she sidestepped and ducked, causing Anaru to stumble forward.

"Sneaky…" He rasped as he caught himself before she could exploit the opening.

"I try!" The young woman replied quickly, sidestepping around him.

Three months had passed since their mission in Duskwood. Her brush with a real, palpable enemy had put in a sense of determination into the young woman. In their chase and skirmish with the Riders, she had been useless aside from being a target. The demons they killed in Deadwind Pass had further driven the point home. While no one had said anything, she found herself feeling tremendously insecure in the aftermath of that mission.

Una decided she had to improve enough to at least be able to keep Anaru or Hakander at bay. If she could hold her own against them, she could probably defeat most enemies.

Anaru was cunning, strong, and versed in ways of fighting most paladins considered improper. As the months wore on, she became more aware than ever of the multitude of things her grandfather had taught him. The bulk of his training predated the advent of paladins and their strict code of conduct. Alarmingly potent in unarmed combat; he could wrestle, box, and grapple. She'd always been aware he could pick locks and had only recently learned he was a capable marksman with a gun or bow.

Hakander simultaneously managed to be both similar and opposite to her cousin. He was a wise, experienced, knowledgeable, juggernaut of a paladin. He was a great deal older than she was, but by how much, she still didn't know. However, that age made him experienced in combat to a degree Una couldn't hope to match. It also made him very jaded at times.

Today, they were in the outskirts of Stormwind sparring in a grove in a secluded bend in the city wall. Tall, mature trees with thick, green canopies sheltered them from the autumn sun. Out here, there was little chance of a bystander getting in the way and they were free to spar as hard as they cared without interference. Hakander sat a safe distance away, observing their match.

Anaru stomped his foot and took a half step lunge to trick her into thinking he was going to attack. It took tremendous self control, but Una held her ground. He was testing her.

He swept his blade in, but the angle was slightly off to the side. Another feint. Una deflected it, making sure it was the smallest possible movement. He took a half step forward and then strafed to the left. Una followed his movements, careful not to allow him to outflank her.

He sprang forward bringing his sword up for a brutal, overhead cleave.

Una leaped backwards to avoid his attack.

Anaru landed nimbly on the balls of his feet and swung his sword in a wide arc. His wooden blade struck her stomach hard enough to force a gasp from her lips.

Wincing, Una skipped backwards and then used a grapevine step to bring herself out of range once again.

Anaru turned as she circled, his face calculating as he studied her. A frustrated look flickered across his face.

The young woman sprinted in, launching into her own Divine Storm. It was his turn to block, parry, and dodge her attacks. He was clearly surprised by her choice to attack aggressively.

Thus, Una wasn't surprised when his foot snapped out in a kick. She was too close so it was more of a push. That push still threw her off balance and halted her attack. She stumbled out of the way as he pressed the advantage with an underhand swing.

She skipped out of range, pivoting slightly to go in the opposite direction without turning her back on him. Anaru was coming for her.

The older paladin charged in, suddenly bringing them hilt to hilt. He pressed downward with all his might. Her wrists and arms screamed with pain.

She felt her knees tremble under the strain and realized this was her chance. Allowing herself to fall backwards, Una kicked her right foot upwards into his belt buckle and helped him up and over her head.

A heavy thump and Hakander's delighted whoop told her she had done it correctly.

The young woman hastily climbed to her feet and bounded away as her cousin came to his feet as well.

"I yield!" He barked and then laughed breathlessly, "I see you were paying attention!"

Una sucked in deep breaths of air and nodded, unable to speak as she fought to catch her breath. She braced her hands on her knees and smiled shakily as he turned to Hakander.

"Quite impressive." The Draenei said, "However, that throw was amusing."

"No doubt!" Anaru wheezed and then coughed a few times. He pressed a hand to his side and grimaced.

"Sorry!" Una panted, hoping she didn't hurt him. She sank down to the trodden grass at her feet.

"Not you… side cramp." He panted, "Haven't gotten one in years…"

Hakander laughed, climbed to his feet, and pressed a hand to Anaru's side. He muttered a healing spell and Anaru clapped his arm in thanks as the pain faded. "She certainly kept you at a dead run."

Anaru nodded around a cough and sat down on the grass. He peeled off his sweat dampened shirt and used it to mop off his face.

The Draenei retrieved their canteens and tossed them lightly to the two elves. Una nodded her thanks and pushed a sweaty tendril of her brown hair away from her face. She gratefully gulped down large mouthfuls of water, panting around each swallow.

"Quite interesting." The Vindicator mused, stroking his chin. He didn't elaborate further, but continued looking thoughtful.

The elf woman laid back in the grass studied the vibrant, green leaves over her head as she caught her breath. It was a deliciously warm first day of October. The trees would soon start changing color before going into the brief dormancy over the winter months. By April, they'd be fully leaved once more.

Una had always loved the fall colors in Elywnn and the surrounding areas. Fall always reminded her strongly of her childhood and the family's infrequent trips to Silvermoon City. The eternally golden forest had been enchanting to her. The maples around Stormwind usually turned that rich, golden color, but it only lasted a few weeks.

However, as much as she enjoyed the colors, she was ready to be away from Stormwind. With her unit, it wasn't as bad as it was when she left all those months ago but the memories still ached. However, they would be stationed here until further notice. The Scourge were especially riled this year and her troop was selected as one of the first waves assigned to the major cities. Thankfully, her parents were absent so it was one less drama to have to think about. She guessed they were away to one of the Farstrider Lodges.

She yawned, rubbed her hands over her freckled face, and started to doze off.

"Una?" Anaru asked at length.

She cracked open an eye. The elf realized she must have fallen asleep: Hakander was gone and it was just her cousin and her. "Hmm?"

"Are you happy with the Argent Dawn?"

"I suppose I am. Why?" Una turned her head to gaze at him. He was brooding, as was typical of the other paladin when he was perturbed by something.

Anaru sighed, "I need to send you for the Trials eventually."

The brown haired woman frowned deeply and twirled a loose lock of her hair around her index finger. Since the Third War, she had been to the Western Plaguelands only once while riding with Hiram and never the Eastern territories. That had been her very first encounter with Scourge and a necromancer. It wasn't her fondest memory.

He noted her deep frown and continued, "I really don't like the idea of sending you there in October. If they didn't receive so much snow during the winter, I'd wait until late November, early December..."

"I hear a _"but"_ in there." Una interjected dryly.

He nodded, "I need you to have a rank better than _Private_. As my Lieutenant Commander, Hakander is a great second-in-command for military issues. But I need someone with medical expertise."

She nodded in agreement. Starting that very first mission with the cultists she had repeatedly encountered disease and plague. Usually local doctors and healers were on her side, but there were times they could be reticent. Paladins were immune to disease for the most part, which made her ideally suited to the task. However, somewhere between being female and a High Elf, sometimes it was an uphill battle either to be taken seriously or trusted.

"If you pass, I'm hoping they'll give you the rank of _Medical Officer_. It's an _indistinct_ rank… I couldn't tell you where they sit in the chain of command." He lowered his voice and smirked, "Someone probably pulled it out of their ass to convince a civilian to let them help and it became standard operating procedure. However, it would give you some authority when you needed to throw your weight around."

"So when should I leave?" Una asked.

"As soon as possible. I want you out of the Plaguelands before All Hallows. As you know, issues with Scourge increase on the nights preceding All Hallows, but it's especially bad up there." Anaru's voice trailed off. He didn't need to say that this year would probably be nightmarish. He finally whispered thoughtfully to himself, "You'd be close…"

"Uncle Eilonel?" Una asked, guessing his train of thought.

"Yes." He nodded, "Give or take – it's a couple weeks out of Ironforge to reach the Plaguelands. Light's Hope Chapel is another two days out. That puts it about the eighteenth to the twenty-second; which would be cutting it _really_ close. But it's only about eight hours from the Chapel to Father's estate. Would you be _comfortable_ going north to go south?"

"I suppose I would be." She replied hesitantly.

Una found herself pensive as she bought supplies, packed her things and then went to her quarters in the Stormwind City Barracks one last time. After talking with Hiram several days prior, she had decided it was foolish to keep paying rent for her quarters. While she was still entitled to them and would remain so for years, she would probably never use them again. It pained her, but Stormwind wasn't her home anymore.

Una found herself brooding as she climbed the familiar steps up to her floor, occasionally pausing to look out the narrow, slitted windows overlooking the sea. Her thoughts drifted back to her trip north.

The young elf hadn't seen her Uncle in years and she wasn't entirely certain how she felt.

The schism between her parents and Anaru's had existed for as long as she could remember. Whatever had been the cause of their estrangement, she was certain it predated her existence and probably Anaru's as well. Her father harbored a deep, abiding resentment towards the side of the family still in Silvermoon City; her Uncle and Grandfather especially. Una was too young to remember much of her father's and uncle's elder sister, Osari, who was killed when she was still quite young. However, what memories Una did have of her indicated she at least seemed to get along with her parents.

Part of her desperately wanted to know what was so awful that it could cause such a rift and the other part wasn't sure she wanted to know. After Osari's death, they seemed to have reconciled when her cousins and she had been young. As they grew older, either they had another falling out or the reconciliation was only superficial. Given her parent's reaction to Anaru, she couldn't help but wonder if Uncle Eilonel would react similarly.

Una frowned in dismay as several rats fled as she opened her door. At one time, she wouldn't have given them a second look. She realized her time on the road had made her forget the sheer amount of vermin in Stormwind City. It felt as though her mind had wanted to forget everything negative and remember only the most wonderful aspects of her hometown.

The High Elf anxiously checked on her Winterveil gown and was relieved to find it intact. Her wardrobe, however, smelled strongly of rats and the floor was littered with scraps of cloth and paper. She recognized the debris as the box her Winterveil slippers had come in. She drug through the refuse and found the red silk slippers, gnawed and shredded beyond repair.

With a short scream of frustration, she swept the filth into a dustbin and began to unpack her heavy, cedar trunk. She normally used it to hold her spare arms and armor, but she needed it for her possessions. Her spare gear would rust and her standard issue bedding would become moldy in the humid Stormwind air by the time she ever needed it again.

As the High Elf woman continued packing, she had the sudden wish that she could store her things with her parents. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she chided herself. That was a foolish thought. Silvermoon's defection to the Horde only gave her parents further cause to resent the rest of the family. When they found she had been up there, even if just to beg her Uncle for a portal back to Stormwind, they would be furious. Her belongings would likely be the first victim of their rage. Instead, Hiram Stonemace's cellar would house her belongings for the foreseeable future.

Una muttered angrily to herself as she hurriedly packed the last of her belongings. She closed and locked the lid, shut her eyes, and took deep breaths. The whole situation felt overwhelmingly perverse. They were her parents, but yet she couldn't trust them to behave as mature elves. Instead, she was turning to her mentor for help once again.

The braying of a ram outside brought her attention to the window. Below, Hiram and a couple of his friends were backing a wagon up to the doors closest to her quarters. They vanished into the building and soon she could hear them chatting merrily as they thumped up the stairs.

"Ye all set, lass?" Hiram asked loudly before he was even to her door. A couple moments later, he leaned into her room. "Packed an' all that?" To punctuate, the gray haired paladin gave her cedar trunk a kick with the toe of his heavy, leather boot. It didn't escape her notice that he was completely sober yet again. "Not gonna ferget anythin, righ'?"

Una thought for a second and with a gasp ran to her small desk, "Grandfather's letter!" She withdrew the letter, still unread and took a deep breath to calm her momentary thrill of panic.

"Aye. Canne ferget that, can ye?" Hiram grunted as he took one handle of the trunk as one of his friends took the other. As Una reached for her suitcase containing her Winterveil dress and her fancier clothing, he barked, "Put it yer pocket, ye silly girl!"

"Trials in the Plaguelands ain't gonna like yer Paladin Trials, lassie… ye'll need all the luck ye can git." One of Hiram's friends, a burly, black haired dwarf, said gently as he tucked two of her smaller trunks under each arm.

Una tucked the letter into her pocket as instructed. She cast a final glance at her old room. It was empty now, save for the full dustbin in the corner. The maids would be by later to clean her room and prepare it for the next occupant. The elf finally lifted her suitcase with one hand and a duffel-bag containing a quilt Hiram's wife had made for her years before in the other. She took the stairs slowly, looking around once last time.

"Yer sure ye got everything, lass? Plenty o' underwear? Clean clothes?" Hiram asked as she handed him the last two pieces of luggage.

"Hiram…" Una groaned.

"Oi! None o' that!" He growled sternly, "I think o' ye like yer me own girl. I can ask that, ye ken?"

"Yes, Hiram." Una said obediently. She was somewhat flattered and flustered at the same time. "And I do have everything."

"That's me girl." He brushed the dust from his palms and turned to his friends, "Ye got all this, lads?" He received nods in response. "Many thanks! Shall we depart, lass?"

"Wait, what? No! The suitcase needs…" The High Elf exclaimed. For as long as she knew him, when her mentor announced a departure, he meant they were leaving immediately.

"To go inside." Hiram interjected in a weary tone. "Aye… aye, the wife will see to that. Probably go under our bed. Anything else?"

Una bit her lip, "I need to speak to Anaru before we leave…"

"Then we'd best hurry so ye can do that." Hiram said cheerfully.

He jumped from the wagon and led her around the barracks to the stable. Una shouted her thanks in Dwarven to his friends and jogged after her mentor.

"I know ye weren't expectin' to leave quite this abruptly, but I got us an escort. I bought a few rounds fer this Mountaineer I know last night an' he says we can take Rehburg Pass an' High Pass to the Wetlands." The dwarf said in explanation as they saddled their horses. "Should shave two or three days off yer trip. Those ain't open to the public, so we gotta ride wiv him and I don' like keepin' him waitin'."

After saying good-bye to her cousin and retrieving her gear, they met up with Mountaineer Kortig at the Deeprun Tram and rode it to Ironforge. From there, the Dwarves led her through dark tunnels cut through the mountain. Una soon lost all sense of direction and time.

They camped beside a subterranean lake that the Dwarves had carved into a grand, underground park near a way station. She couldn't tell what time it was when Hiram roused her in the morning. It felt earlier than she was used to, though the Dwarves assured her it was her usual time.

They rode for another couple hours when they came upon a great stone door. The men opened it and cool, yet markedly humid air and blindingly bright light flooded the tunnel. Una flinched and blinked as her eyes fought to adjust to the suddenly change. When her vision finally cleared, she gazed out onto a plateau high in the Khaz Mountains with watering eyes. Brilliant sunlight shone blindingly off patches of mountain snow, dazzling her with the glare. The snowcapped peaks of the mountains stretched out as far as she could see. Despite the snow, it wasn't particularly cold.

"Ah! Always loved this view. Had ye out here when ye were younger," Hiram said as Una dabbed her eyes on the edge of her cloak. "But we came out a different gate. Padraig Hirsch, ye remember him?"

Una nodded, recalling the Dwarven farmer they had helped one summer. She'd fallen in love with his family's many barn cats and his wife's delicious breads. The money she'd earned from those early adventures with Hiram had allowed her to purchase her first weapons and armor.

"His farm is about a half mile west o' here and about three-quarters of a mile further down the mountain." The gray haired Dwarf pointed in a direction she could only assume was west. She was horribly disoriented. The sun was too high in the sky for her to easily discern direction.

The young woman followed the men as they took a worn, cobblestone road. After a few miles, they came to another door and she was plunged back into the darkness of the Dwarven tunnels.

She was yawning in the saddle when they finally came to another door. This time hot, muggy air flooded the tunnel. She stepped out into a hazy sky filled with twinkling stars. Una breathed in the earthy, damp odors of the Wetlands at night. Fen Moss hung in fibrous tendrils from the twisted branches above her head. The men led the way a short distance away to an obviously often-used campsite.

Once again, Hiram roused her the following morning. After a meal of soft bretzel and fruit Hiram had brought with him, they broke camp. Back in semi-recognizable surroundings, Una's sense of direction and time returned quickly. At noon, they finally came to a crossroads.

"I fear yer on yer own from here out, lass." Hiram said sadly as she gazed up the road. "Missed bein' able to ride wiv ye like this."

"Thank you so much, Hiram! You too, Kortig." Una exclaimed. She was still slightly disoriented, but that trip did seem much faster.

"Bah, was nothin'!" The Mountaineer said, "Have a safe trip, lass. Er… I'll meet ye up the road, Hiram." The Dwarf trotted his ram a generous distance away.

When he was out of an earshot, her mentor pulled a pendant from under his shirt. "I'd like ye to have this, lass." Hiram removed it and tossed it lightly to her.

Una caught the necklace and examined it closely. It was a thick ring of gold on a well-worn leather cord. Una turned the heavy pendant over in her hand and suddenly realized there were Dwarven glyphs and some kind of design stamped on it. They were blurred and obscured by hammer marks. She turned it over a couple more times and then realized it was a coin. A gold coin.

"I started wearin' that back in… eh… lets just say I got that well before ye were born." The Dwarf said, puffing on his pipe as he tended to do when he was anxious and far too sober. "I got that coin outta a bet at a tavern and put it in me breast pocket fer safe keepin. Keep in mind, lass, I was nae a paladin then… just a blacksmith. Later, I made me way home. A sniper decided to take a potshot at me." Her mentor gestured as though firing a gun. "I thought he missed an' ran away like a scared, wee lass."

Una pressed a hand to her mouth, her mind coming to the logical conclusion.

"When I got back to me place, I took off me shirt. A bullet and that coin fell out. Scared the piss outta me." The Dwarf said roughly, pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe to the center of the pendant, "I had a helluva bruise, but the bullet woulda gone straight into me heart if not fer that wee coin. It was all dented up, so I hammered it into a pendant. I did a passable job, don' ye think?"

He coughed and his voice softened, "Wear it fer me, lass. It was lucky fer me, perhaps it'll be lucky fer ye too. I know I dun gotta warn ye about the Scourge..." He said, his eyes dampening slightly. "Ye be careful." The Dwarf stressed each word as he spoke, staring pointedly into her eyes.

Una leaned across the gap and embraced her mentor tightly and was fiercely hugged in return. "Thank you, Hiram."

"Off with ye, now! Go on!" The Dwarf barked gruffly to cover his display of emotion and shooed her away. Una shot him a watery smile of her own and urged Vesper into a trot.

Her trek through the remainder of the Wetlands, the Arathi Highlands, and then Hillsbrad was uneventful though long. She camped along chilly highland streams and alongside lonely stretches of road. The more she thought about it, a hot bath at her Uncle's estate sounded divine.

She stopped at Aerie Peak to resupply and prepare herself mentally for her trek across the Plaguelands. The Wildhammer Dwarves were more than happy to put her up for the night. After a robust and cheerful meal of veal, potatoes, and more ale than she probably should have enjoyed she crawled into a bunk and drifted to sleep.

She was awoken early the next morning by a bleary eyed Innkeeper Thulfram. "Sorry to wake ye, lass. Got an urgent letter fer ye from the Kirin Tor." He declared around a yawn, handing her an envelope bearing the seal of Dalaran.

Una frowned deeply as she accepted it and carefully rolled out of the Dwarf-sized bunk bed.

She had no idea why the Kirin Tor would be contacting her or who among their ranks would even know she was here. Dalaran City itself had vanished from the banks of Lordamere Lake more than a month ago. All that remained was a massive crater that still pulsed with torrents of arcane energy. She sat down on a bench at the foot of the bed and cracked the violet-colored wax. She anxiously withdrew the letter from within and unfolded it.

_My Dearest Una,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I was delighted when Anaru sent word that you would be coming. Too much time has passed and I have missed you so._

Una sucked in a breath in surprise and her eyes dropped down to the signature to confirm. It was from Uncle Eilonel. How he knew where she was, she couldn't be sure. Thanks to Hiram and optimum conditions, she was days ahead of schedule. She shook her head in amazement and continued reading.

_I know you must return to duty, but I should very much like to become reacquainted. I adored my cute, little niece, but I know precious little of this adult woman I am writing to. And of course, while you are here, you must allow your Uncle to dote on you a little. There is so much news! Many of our family would very much like to see you as well..._

The High Elf giggled and shook her head as he went on to talk about each family member in turn. Some were family she knew and other names were unfamiliar. Her Uncle's elegant penmanship degraded and his sentences became longer as the letter progressed. She had the growing sense that it would be difficult to leave Silvermoon once she arrived. He desperately wanted to spend time with her and catch up. Relatives would likely come out of the woodwork to do the same, some she had to admit she was curious about.

In a way, it put her mind at ease. He was still the charmingly eccentric and excitable Uncle Eilonel she remembered so well.

However, those memories were in sharp contrast with the memories of the vicious feuds between her father and him. Fights between the brothers always became physical and were often pitched in her father's favor. Uncle Eilonel had always been slight, even by elven standards. Her father, meanwhile, was in every sense the classic ranger: muscular, lithe, and very quick. He knew how to force the mage to fight without magic, putting him at an even greater disadvantage.

After the end of the Third War, she had only seen him moments as he silently collected his sons and departed. She knew from the wounds on his face that he had had another fight with her father, but it still hurt that he had said nothing to her.

As she began packing, she forced it from her mind. There would be time enough to talk with her Uncle and perhaps put those feelings to rest. At the moment, she was less than an few hours from the Plaguelands.

Anaru and she had planned her route before she left. She would cross through the mountains separating the Hinterlands from the Plaguelands via Plaguemist Ravine. From there, she would skirt Darrowmere Lake going east. Anaru had warned her to stay off the roads, stick to the wilder country where the undead concentration would be thinnest. From there, she would ride through the wilds to Lake Mereldar and then eventually swing north-east for the ride to the chapel.

It sounded easy enough.

To Una's amazement, she saw little in the way of undead. The only creatures she encountered were a few herds of sickly deer, a few plaguehounds, a plaguebat or two, and some carrion worms. She thought she spied a gargoyle in the distance, but she lost sight of it over a ridge.

Vesper had a case of nerves once again, his ears pinned back to his skull as shivers ran down his body. Una did her best to reassure her stallion, all while keeping a wary eye on her surroundings.

Sickly orange plaguemist shrouded everything in sight, obscuring her view. Bleached bones of both man and beast were everywhere, at times crunching under her horse's hooves. She passed abandoned, rusting Scourge meat wagons and the crumbling foundations of former homesteads.

Dead and dying pine, some bloated with the Blight, reminded her this used to be Darrowmere Forest. Some of the dead, fallen trees emitted a foul, brown gas that drifted upwards lazily. In her mind's eye, she could still see the thick, verdant, pine forest that stretched all way north to Eversong.

That night, she camped at the base of an escarpment near Lake Mereldar. The night went without incident, though she was forced to get up to calm Vesper several times. At dawn, she made her way around the lake and turned northward.

She arrived midday at Light's Hope Chapel three days ahead of schedule. It was a grim outpost, surrounded on nearly all sides by the Scourge and Scarlet Crusade to the south from their fortified city of Tyr's Hand. Vigilant sentries patrolled the perimeter and kept the clearly visible Scourge at bay.

Una tied Vesper off and strode inside. Surrounding a table that had seen far better days was a group of Humans and one Forsaken. Most wore tabards of the Argent Dawn, though she uncomfortably noticed the white and blood red cloth of the Scarlet Crusade. They were pouring over maps, settings markers. The young elf vaguely recognized it was a map of Thunder Bluff. Below it sat maps of the other large cities.

"Pardon the intrusion… Lord Maxwell Tyrosus?" The paladin asked tentatively, snapping to a salute when a brown haired human male with an eye-patch stood. He returned the salute crisply.

"Private Una Whitebrook, of Argent Dawn Unit Fifty-Six, reporting for the Trials, Milord." Her voice sounded calmer than she actually was. Her heart was hammering in her chest so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

"Well met, Private." The human said evenly. "Commander Whitebrook sent word you would be coming. You're ahead of schedule; I trust the roads were favorable."

"Very favorable, Sir." It took a tremendous amount of willpower to keep from reaching up to grasp her pendant or to fidget with her hair. "I wished to complete the Trials as soon as possible so I might return to my Unit."

"Excellent." Lord Tyrosus stated with a nod. "Take all the time you need to prepare. I'm sure you're exhausted after your journey."

"Thank you, Milord." Una said with a bow.

The elf woman used her three days to rest and recover from the long journey as well as mentally prepare herself. No one had told her what she could expect and there seemed to be no advice incoming either. Her Trials as a paladin had been equal parts tests of her physical fortitude as well as her spiritual. This Trial was likely to be quite different.

The morning of the fourth day after her arrival, she ventured back to Lord Tyrosus.

The human glanced up from a discussion he was having with Korfax and Commander Dawnbringer. The conversation seemed especially animated, though she couldn't quite understand what they were discussing.

He returned her salute and excused himself for a moment, "Are you ready, Private Whitebrook?"

"Yes, Sir." Una said nervously, licking her suddenly very dry lips. She added, "As ready as I'll ever be".

"Then let us begin." Lord Tyrosus declared. "Behind our chapel, you will find the entrance to a crypt. Interred within are the bodies of our fallen heroes; those who gave their lives in the war against the Scourge. Their spirits are at peace, but they return intermittently to test those seeking to join the order."

He handed her a simple scroll. "Enter the crypt, and then read from this scroll. Lord Raymond George – my predecessor – will preside over your test."

"Thank you, Milord." She saluted him and walked out of the Chapel. Numbly, she accepted a lantern from a sentry and nodded her thanks when the human wished her luck.

The entrance of the crypt was tiny and understated, barely noticeable behind the chapel. All she could see within was blackness.

Hiram had always told her going into crypts in the Plaguelands was both suicidal and incredibly stupid. Today, she was doing it deliberately. Una drew her sword and cautiously made her way down the stairs.

Despite the tiny entrance, the interior of the crypt was massive. Holding her lantern high, Una gazed around at the final resting place for only the Light knew how many souls. It was silent, like a crypt should be. Given where she was, Una found that disturbing.

She cast her emerald gaze across the niche covered walls, each filled with caskets of various ages and sizes. The young woman strained her senses to search for the presence of undead, but found nothing. She sensed no malevolence, only peaceful silence. The tell-tale stench of the Scourge was missing, only the musty odor of an old burial vault tickled her nose.

On some level, she realized not too long ago that wouldn't seemed odd or out of place to her.

Five wooden coffins lay in a neat line across the path before her. She gingerly stepped around, leveling her sword at the aged, dirt stained wood at her feet as though Scourge could burst forth at any moment.

Dirt still clung to the coffins, caked in the nooks and crannies left by nails and brass hardware. Some of it still disturbingly dark. Morbid curiosity compelled her to kneel and touch the dirt coating a small, rusted plaque at the foot of one of the coffins. Fresh, moist soil came away onto the fingertips of her glove and revealed the mark of the Silver Hand. The High Elf jerked her hand away, startled.

Una chided her foolishness. She was on sacred ground, beyond the reach of the Scourge. The Argent Dawn had every right to exhume the graveyards; every corpse in this vault was one more potential weapon out of the Scourge's arsenal.

Leaving the coffins behind, Una carefully descended uneven stairs and wound her way through the hallways of the crypt.

Only once she was very deep into the crypt did spirits start to make themselves known. Her honed senses told her unseen presences had fallen into step before and behind her as though an honor guard. She held a tremble that threatened to race up her spine in check and fought the urge to turn and look. There was still no malice.

At last a chamber illuminated by flickering candlelight came into view before her. Fires in the Plaguelands had the habit of burning a disconcerting shade of sickly green or eerie blue. The light before her was perfectly normal candlelight; warm and gold as it should be.

She stepped into a large, bare room. Only an ornately carved, stone sarcophagus occupied an altar-like niche in the very back of the room.

The ghosts that had escorted her into the room were gone as quickly as she'd noticed them.

Taking a deep breath, she sat the lantern down on the sarcophagus, slid her shield onto her arm, drew her sword, and then pulled the scroll from within her tabard. This was it.

She read the words from scroll, barely paying attention to the words that passed over her lips.

"Let the Trial Begin," A disembodied voice announced. Una glanced up in alarm as the spirit of a paladin appeared, clad in the black, white, and gold tabard of the Argent Dawn. "Rise, champions! Rise, and meet this woman in combat!"

Una cast her gaze all around her, ready for attack.

She heard the hiss of drawn steel. The elf spun to her to her right. The spirit of a dwarf female with bright red hair drawn up in braids advanced on her.

Una stepped lightly around on the balls of her feet. The Dwarf drove in hard. Her sword came around in an underhand swing. She blocked with her shield.

Another lash. The elf nimbly pivoted out of the way and spun into a Divine Storm. The spirit evaporated with a light laugh.

Blinking in surprise, Una almost wasn't ready when she heard a faint, feral chuckle behind her.

A ghostly axe grated across her back armor. She tucked and rolled. The ghost of an orc male gave her a toothy grin as she came up and rushed to batter her defenses.

His style reminded her alarmingly of Hakander's brutal impacts. She sprinted out of range. She felt a breath of air. She skipped out of the way as she nearly ran into another spirit. The ghost of a human male with an alarming outsized hammer pursued.

She kept moving. Una called upon the Light and used it to lash the Orc ghost. She thought she heard the word "Good!" and he vanished.

She didn't have time to ponder. The human ghost was upon her. The elf ducked out of the way as the ghost swung his hammer. The head grated harshly against the stones.

As with the first ghosts, the human vanished once she scored a touch.

Panting heavily, the elf woman scanned the tomb for more.

"Your warm-up is complete." The ghostly paladin, she assumed Lord Raymond George, said as he began to stride forward. "Now, the real trial begins!"

The elf woman had a feeling this was one of the original paladins. She wasn't fighting Hakander or Anaru anymore, but probably someone more on par with her grandfather.

Una skipped backwards. She would give this one range and fight in a flighty series of in's and out's. It was going to be difficult to keep all of him in range. Watching throats worked well for human sized opponents, but this ghost towered over her. There was simply no way she could watch all of him at once.

The ghostly paladin seemed to be sizing her up as he advanced on her, his longsword held in a relaxed grip, his wrist fluid. A shield bearing the crest of Lordaeron was casually held at the ready.

Una bit her lip. The one time she had watched her grandfather spar, he'd started in a very similar stance.

The ghost seemed to be in no hurry, the glowing blue eyes from within the dark helmet seemed to still be weighing her up. Perhaps he knew her or at least her grandfather and was being cautious. Or perhaps he was waiting for her to make the first move.

She wasn't going to take that bait. If there was one thing she learned while sparring with Hakander, it was patience. To attack too soon invited failure.

Una circled slowly, not taking her eyes off the massive, transparent sword.

Quick steps.

The blade came down in an overhead slash. Una deflected. She lunged forward, slashing. Mist erupted as her sword found his side.

She darted past him, pivoted, and skipped out of range.

Lord Raymond George didn't dissipate like the others. He nimbly spun and attacked.

Una parried and riposted. The tip of her sword impotently struck his shield.

Sparks flew as the tip of his sword grazed her breastplate, slicing through her tabard. A ghost he might be, but that sword was very much real.

She spun on the balls of her feet, changing the direction she was moving in. What may have fooled a less experienced swordsman barely fazed him.

The elf lashed him with the Light, allowing the spell to surge around her like electricity as she attacked.

The sword came from above. Una pivoted and rolled. She came up in a Divine Storm even as her shield arm seared with pain. Lord George pressed through the attack, hammering at her guard.

The young woman seized an opening and dove out of the way. She came up running, weaving her steps.

Nothing felt broken. He was easily as strong as Hakander. Being undead, he didn't tire like a mortal either.

Una sprinted in, low and fast. She brought her sword up and under his guard, aiming for his throat.

He vanished.

Armor creaked behind her. Una spun, bringing her sword up. The ghost of Lord Raymond George stood atop the stone sarcophagus.

He dropped to one knee, his left hand pressed to his chest in an old Silver Hand gesture of respect, "Well-done. You have passed my test of combat." The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere; loud and commanding.

Una blinked slowly in disbelief. In the brief moment her eyes were closed, he was gone.

Panting heavily, the young elf gazed around the crypt, not quite comprehending what this meant. The tomb was still, only her ragged breaths broke the silence.

The young woman's mind slowly grasped the idea that she had won. However, she felt unsettled by how abruptly combat had ended. Either way, she had been found worthy.

Triumphantly, Una snatched up her lantern and hurried through the passageways. She whispered her thanks to the unseen spirits as she ran in euphoria.

So caught up in her success and frantic desire to report, she was unprepared when she came around the final bend and into light from outside. Blinded, she stumbled forward. Her boot awkwardly found the first riser and slipped out from under her. The elf fell prone upon the stairs in a clatter of armor. Her sword and the lantern crashed loudly down the stairs and back into the tomb.

"Throm-ka!" Rumbled a familiar, deep voice with a mixture of surprise, humor, and delight. As her eyes finally adjusted she realized there was a massive, emerald-skinned hand being offered to her. The orc chuckled, "That was a glorious battle; too bad the stairs knew your weakness!"


	9. Chapter 9: Plaguelands

**Author's Note: **This chapter is rated **Mature** due to graphic violence and depictions of traumatic injuries.

I'd like to thank Rooietroll for your wonderful review! Your reviews always make me smile. Thank you so much! Also thank you to everyone who have added this story to your favorites or alerts!

I'd also like to thank KooriRoninHeart for beta reading this for me. Thanks, Sis! Love you!

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Plaguelands**

"Of all the elves I've met," Captain Garrack Backbreaker rumbled in amusement as he helped her to her feet. "I have never met one that manages to be as clumsy as you are."

Una blushed as the Orc went to retrieve her sword and lantern for her, unsure of what to say. She busied herself with dusting herself off and doing a cursory check for injuries. She found only minor injuries and quickly used a bit of mana to repair them.

"Managed to get through that skirmish out in the Barrens without a scratch, but you perform a face plant in my home. That, girl, takes talent." The broadly grinning Orc offered her sword back to her pommel first.

Una gratefully accepted it. She sheathed it and then stared awkwardly at the Captain for several moments. She pulled her pendant through the neckline of her armor and fidgeted with it.

"Eh… That was _fast_; I was expecting to have to come down. You pass?" Garrack rumbled, casting a glance back into the tomb. As with the mission in the Barrens, he didn't seem to mind her awkwardness. There was no way he couldn't not notice.

"Yes, Sir!" She replied enthusiastically. "I can't believe I did it, there were so many coming at me from all sides and then Lord…" The Orc's rich, loud, full-throated laugh caught her by surprise and she stopped talking.

"You'll have to recount your glorious battle to me over a few drinks sometime." He motioned to the Chapel and began to walk, "In the meantime, there's no time for celebration."

"Oh, no!" Una groaned wearily, trotting after the Orc. "What now?"

"Plague." The dark haired warrior grunted from ahead of her. He handed her lantern off to a sentry without breaking step. "In all the cities. Guessing tainted grain again."

"Oh, shit!" Una exclaimed, her eyes wide with fear. She sped up to fall into step with him.

Backbreaker nodded, ""_Oh, shit" _is right. Orgrimmar and Stormwind are going to be hit _hard_. Flour is used in _everything_. Where's your unit?"

"Stormwind…" She whimpered. Dread surged up from the pit of her stomach. Hiram, her parents, her cousin, her unit, her friends… everyone she knew and cared about was in danger.

"Don't go all panicky on me, Betsy." The Captain said, once again surprising her with his even, paternal tone. "We have time. We're talking a handful of cases in each city right now. There will be multiple units there by now."

He opened the chapel door and held it for her. Abandoning pretenses, Una ducked under his arm and slipped inside.

Word seemed to have only just arrived. The maps had been abandoned and Lord Tyrosus was talking rapidly to a group of Argent Dawn clerics. She noted the mages were no longer present and neither were the Crusaders or the Brotherhood of the Dawn.

When he dismissed the clerics, Lord Maxwell Tyrosus saluted Captain Backbreaker and then Una as they did the same, "Thank you for retrieving her, Captain."

"Not a problem." The Captain said simply, "She passed."

"Congratulations, Private." The human stated with a nod, "I wish we had time for a proper ceremony or for your paperwork, but you need to rejoin your unit."

"Thank you, Sir." Una replied, "Captain Backbreaker briefed me a little on our way back here."

"Excellent." He nodded, "Our mages are out collecting our other units from around the world, so I'm afraid this won't be a simple..."

She wasn't sure whether it was appropriate given the situation, but she interrupted, "Begging your pardons, Milord, Captain… but I was supposed to go to Silvermoon from here to ask my Uncle for a portal."

Garrack gave a grunt of approval, "Guess that solves that."

"So it seems." Lord Tyrosus stated with an approving nod of his own. "And what of you, Captain?"

"Might solve mine too." Backbreaker rumbled, "Private, do you think your Uncle would mind helping my team back to Orgrimmar? Frees up the mages to keep troops flowing."

Una couldn't possibly see a reason her Uncle would be troubled, "I doubt he'd mind, Sir."

"Then if you don't mind, my men and I will ride with you." Captain Backbreaker inclined his head, "We would be in your debt."

"I would be honored." Una winced inwardly she once again spoke more confidently than she felt. Garrack, Dagan, and Tallak had been one thing; her entire unit had been with her. This time, she was alone.

"Very well, it sounds as though everything is in order." Lord Tyrosus said with a nod. "Congratulations again, Private Whitebrook. Dismissed."

"Thank you, Sir." Una saluted both males, feeling distinctly ill-at-ease.

As she turned to leave, Garrack caught her arm. "Tallak and my men are on the west side of the chapel." He rumbled softly, "We ride at noon."

The elf woman gave a slight nod, feeling her anxiety increasing. It seemed as though fate wanted to prevent her from making any plans ahead. She didn't know Garrack well, but that gave her little time to prepare.

Barely out of the chapel and she could already see the wild-haired Orc seated upon a log near a campfire, slicing a large hunk of unidentifiable meat into steaks. A grate had been set over the fire and a large cook-pot was bubbling away. She removed her helm as she approached so he could clearly see who she was. So far, she could only see the hunter.

"Tallak!" She called; horrified when she stammered his name instead of the pleasant greeting she wanted. Una prayed he couldn't hear her, so she could try again.

The Orc lifted his head and gazed around. His wolf stood up and sniffed the air. His dark eyes landed on her and then he smiled, holding his palm up in greeting, "Throm'ka!"

"Hello." Una grimaced inwardly as her voice once again sounded timid. When she drew near, she stammered, "I guess I'm… er… I mean you're…" A lanky, yellow-haired forest Troll in dusty leathers appeared from the general direction of the privies and she suddenly felt herself freeze, like a deer before a hunter.

"Brain in gear before putting mouth in motion." Tallak commented softly, stirring the pot before returning to the meat. It was a common enough phrase among Gnomes and Dwarves, but hearing it come from an Orc was simply bizarre.

"The Captain says I'm riding with you." She finally managed to blurt. The elf absently stroked his wolf's head as it sniffed her gloved hands.

"Good." The quiet hunter remarked. There was nothing in his tone to indicate anything regarding how he felt. "To Silvermoon?"

"Yeah…" Una sat down on the opposite side of the log and fidgeted with her pendant as the Troll sauntered into camp.

The Troll pointed to her and gargled something in Orcish. Tallak grunted in response.

"So what is that... exactly?" Una asked nervously, pointing at the slabs of meat. It didn't look like any meat she had consumed before and certainly didn't smell like it. Bits of blubber-like fat clung to the discarded bits Tallak's wolf was ravenously eating.

The hunter was digging through a worn leather pack, glancing at bottles of herbs and spices. She wasn't coming up with many ideas for food sources in this area. Hiram had once told her even fish could be questionable in these parts due to the Blight.

"Carrion grub." Tallak answered succinctly, "Disgusting, but edible."

Una wrinkled her nose as the hunter scattered herbs and salt across the meat. Carrion grubs were massive, mutated maggots and the idea she was about to eat one made her stomach feel distinctly unpleasant. The Troll's abrupt cackle made her flinch.

He said something in Orcish that made Tallak chuckle. The Troll's smile was dismaying as his lips flexed around his large, sharp-looking tusks.

"It's just one meal." The hunter said around a smirk with far too much teeth for her liking as well.

Una tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind an ear and cast her gaze at the ground. She was being foolish and she knew it. With so little resources in the way of safe food and potable water, you had to eat whatever you were presented. She pressed the palms of her hands to her face and stayed like that for several moments.

She heard a series of sizzles as the meat was placed on the grate over the fire.

A deep, surprisingly calm voice inquired in Orcish. Tallak responded and she heard another, higher pitched voice answer in garbled tones come from slightly further away.

Una looked up to see a light brown and white Tauren clad in the green and gold leathers of a druid looking curiously at her. Behind him, another Troll was making his way in. Like the first Troll, this Troll's hair was violently yellow but he was balding and clad in dusty green robes. His face was covered in flaking white and yellow face paint.

Tallak began to speak in Orcish and soon Una distinctly heard her name. She realized he was introducing her and nervously stood. They nodded at her as she bowed deeply.

"Una, this is Faraji, our healer." He nodded to the balding Troll. "Best damn priest I know. If you want to talk shop, I can try to translate."

"Next up: Otieno… he's Faraji's kid." He pointed at the Troll still sitting on the other side of the fire. Otieno waved cheerfully, still smirking at her. "We all call him "Dizzy" and you're welcome to as well. He's an idiot, but a fine rogue."

"Last is Nantan." The druid bowed deeply as Tallak pointed to him, "He's not normally with us; he's an old friend of mine."

The priest, Faraji, reached out and took her hands in his. She swallowed nervously as the balding Troll looked her up and down. Finally he asked something in Orcish.

Tallak grunted a simple answer as he knelt to tend to their meal.

The priest seemed delighted by his answer and he bowed to her. Faraji then released her and moved to sit by his son. A deck of playing cards was produced and they were quickly dealt between the two Trolls and the druid.

"Stir the rice." Tallak ordered and she dropped to kneel beside him. In between clouds of steam, she could see the rice was approaching the end of cooking. "He knows your brother."

Una didn't have the heart to tell him Anaru wasn't her brother. She was tired and the thought of once again explaining their relation didn't appeal to her. Tallak didn't need to know anyway. "I think everyone does."

The hunter nodded, inspecting the meat. Neat grill marks had appeared on the bottom, but it was still rather colorless. He muttered peevishly in Orcish.

"Throm'ka." Captain Backbreaker greeted as he strode up. In his hands was a small stack of wooden shingles, "How's the _grub_ coming?" He was clearly proud of his pun; the amusement in his tone clearly evident.

From her several days here, Una knew that shingles were what passed for plates here. The only proper plates left were zealously guarded by Miss Chambers.

"Shit doesn't even caramelize." Tallak grumbled, glaring at Garrack.

"Una, don't let him fool you." Backbreaker sat the shingles down and made himself comfortable on the log behind them. "Tallak is probably the best cook I know."

The rice had absorbed most of the water and she gave it one last stir before she took the cook-pot off the fire.

They ate in comfortable silence. Garrack was right; Tallak had at least managed to make the carrion grub meat tolerable. However, her stomach ruefully pined for the delicious sausage she'd dined on at Backbreaker's farm.

By noon, they were picking their way to the road. That made Una nervous, given Anaru's warning to stay off said road.

Hours stretched by, but she'd yet to see a single undead. Garrack and his men were in good spirits, jovially chatting away at each other in Orcish.

"You never told me your dog's name…" Una said to Tallak, attempting a weak smile. She hated not being able to understand anyone. The constant Orcish chatter did nothing to help her nerves either. It only served to unpleasantly remind her that she was among members of the Horde.

"Wolf." Tallak corrected and then added, "He's called Dust."

"_Dust_ and _Snow_… cute." Una mused.

"Yeah, my son named mine and my daughter named Dagan's." Tallak said quietly with a shrug.

"So how old are…?" Una started to ask, but the hunter swept his hand out in a gesture indicating his wanted quiet.

The others stopped and waited.

At last Tallak spoke in hushed Orcish.

Garrack barked an order. Dizzy saluted him with a "Zug zug!" and dismounted, vanishing into the brush just off the edge of the road.

Una rubbed Vesper's neck to soothe the stallion and herself. The horse quivered under her, his tail squishing feverishly. The Plaguelands were eerily quiet and ominously dark storm clouds boiled in the sky, already gaining a faintly sallow hue from the rising Plaguemist.

The minutes stretched onward. She felt her anxiety mounting. The others were clearly feeling edgy as well.

Faraji was fingering a carved, red, wooden fetish that hung from his belt, beads of sweat visible on the bald crown of his head. He stared in the direction his son went, his jaw firm. Nantan seemed as calm as ever, except for a finger that nervously tapped the edge of his saddle.

Garrack's face had set itself into a fearsome scowl and his eyes were steely. Una swallowed nervously as they looked almost on the verge of going red. The Captain could change attitudes as fast as Esmea could. This wasn't the comforting, paternal Orc she had started becoming accustomed to.

Tallak's lips were curled away from his teeth as he tried to look everywhere at once. Dust was bristling, but otherwise silent. From her earlier mission, she could tell he sensed enemies nearby but couldn't exactly pinpoint where.

Dizzy was panting as he vaulted back through the brush. He spoke urgently, his eyes wide in alarm. He rambled a long statement in Orcish, gesturing as he spoke.

"What is it?" Una asked Tallak in a whisper as the Troll continued talking.

"A platoon of Death Knights," Tallak whispered back to her, pausing as he listened further. "East. Nearby and moving closer."

Una shuddered. A platoon numbered roughly sixteen to twenty-six troops, depending on the organization. "That's a lot of Death Knights."

"We're avoiding combat." Garrack rumbled quickly. He began to give orders in Orcish.

Una sucked in a breath as he made a gesture she was familiar with. It was the same gesture Anaru made during escort missions. It was a silent signal which meant to surround the person they were escorting in a protective ring. Heavy melee to point, ranged to back. Sure enough, she was soon in the middle of the group.

"This was never was a "ride with you" was it?" Una asked Captain Backbreaker in alarm, her whisper pitched shrilly with fear. "This was a mission!"

If the Orc heard her, he gave no indication as they moved out. They rode quickly, but quietly due West through thick scrub and deeper into the back-country. They were well away from the road before they changed course back north.

An equine scream echoed in the distance.

Vesper bucked and lurched under her, nearly unseating the elf. Nantan caught his bridle and held him firm for her.

Tallak spoke quickly and urgently. He stopped talking abruptly and listened.

The hunter suddenly growled a single word in Orcish: "Kagh!" He repeated it, stronger and more urgently. The Tauren once more grasped Vesper's bridle and they were off.

Una looked around her panic as they sped into a gallop. Nantan released her horse and bent over the reins of his kodo. Behind them, more equine screams echoed across the countryside.

The Death Knights were soon within view behind them. She felt a sense of dread overtake her as she crouched low in the saddle. She startled as a loud clatter came from behind her. Tallak had discarded his cooking gear, leaving the pack and pans to tumble to a stop in their dust.

They were still more than an hour from the Ghostlands by her measure. Garrack led them down into a steep ravine. The rocky walls and brush sped by; dead branches snagged their clothes and gear and lashed their faces.

They came out and veered sharply left. They raced through a long abandoned farm field. There was no cover here, only the burnt foundations of a house and barn broke the landscape for nearly a mile. Beyond that lay a heavily diseased thicket. The small band urged their mounts faster as they crossed the field, aiming straight for the thicket.

Garrack led them under the dense trees, slowing slightly as they entered. What at first glance had appeared to be a thicket were actually dense woods. The Blight was harsh here, the trees bloating unnaturally with the corruption. Others lay in splinters, as though they had exploded from the weight of disease.

Rising fog lay before them as the terrain turned slightly rocky and the density of the trees increased. Unnaturally large mushrooms spouted among the dead and diseased pine trees. The paladin frowned deeply as they passed a small, fetid pool of water. The water churned and bubbled loudly; the smell of sulfur and Blight rose as one, stinging her nose. She realized it was a hot spring and the source of the fog.

Una looked up and sucked in an alarmed breath. A thick coating of spider webs in a sickly orange color covered the boughs above their heads like a shroud. It stretched on for as far as she could see, covering every twig and needle.

"Slow down… we'll use the fog for cover…" Garrack said in Common. He spoke again in Orcish, she guessed repeating himself.

"Private, wrap your horse's hooves in rags. We're going to begin drifting towards Plaguewood in twenty minutes." Backbreaker whispered. "Keep noise and talking to a bare minimum."

Una dismounted and accepted some rags from Faraji. Vesper was fidgeting, his tail swishing madly. She knelt and began to wrap his hooves in hopes of deadening the noise they made.

An eerie scream echoed in the distance. Her horse flinched, his eyes rolling, repeatedly pricking his ears and then flattening them to his skull

Satisfied the rags were secure, she stood and grasped the saddle to remount.

The world exploded in a cacophonous shriek. Una screamed, throwing her helm to the ground and clapping her hands to her besieged ears. It rippled through her in a wave of pain, like barbed wire being pulled taunt around her skull. She stumbled backwards. Above the ringing in her ears came the scream of a terrified horse. Something struck her chest with enough force to send her reeling. She felt fur behind her. Faraji's hands snapped around her upper arm to steady her as a banshee fell before the men's attacks.

Una closed her eyes and shook her head to clear it. When she opened her eyes again, Vesper was a pale form in the distance as he galloped between the trees. She soon lost sight of her charger in the fog and Plaguemist.

Una gasped for air, clutching her armored chest as Garrack remounted and dragged her up into the saddle. He urged his worg into a full gallop. She gazed, stricken, in the direction Vesper had gone as they barreled through the wilderness.

"You okay, Private?" Captain Backbreaker thundered behind her, his arm like a band of steel around her slim waist. She groaned and clapped her hands once more to her tortured ears. Her gloves came away with a trickle of blood.

She coughed fitfully once more and shouted, "Just winded."

The Orc had no time to challenge her. Barring the way before them were a number of Death Knights.

Garrack boosted her off and dismounted himself.

Suppressing the urge to cough, Una cast strengthening spells, feeling Nantan and Faraji do the same. The Light came to her hesitantly at first, and she noted Faraji briefly rub a hand across his own forehead.

She pressed a hand to her forehead; she was still pained and shaky from the banshee's attack. She channeled a healing spell into herself and her pain eased.

Garrack was giving orders in brusque Orcish. The Death Knights laughed and one responded in the Captain's tongue. She blinked when she realized it was a deep, growling, but feminine voice. An Orc female. The sound echoed with an odd hollowness, as though the dead woman's words had to travel a great distance to clear her lips. Una frowned as she clearly heard Garrack's name and then another name she recognized: _Naxxramas_.

Faraji backed up until he was beside her and whispered a heavily accented "Stay" and jabbed a finger downwards to point at the ground and then firmly to himself. She guessed he wanted her to stay back, at range, with him.

"Lok'tar ogar!" Captain Backbreaker roared and charged, his massive sword and shield at the ready. Nantan was suddenly a massive, horned lion. With a feline scream of rage, he pounced into the fray. Dizzy was nowhere to be seen.

Armor clattered behind her. Una spun, bringing her shield up to block the incoming attack. She stomped her foot, sending Holy magic into the ground at her feet until the soil shone white. Her opponent had been a human in life, long brown hair now a sickly, yellowish-brownish gray. He hurriedly backed out of the consecrated ground, his body and armor smoking as her magic seared him.

Faraji yelled in alarm. The paladin thrust her arm out, directing her magic to the Troll. The blade aimed at the priest's belly impotently struck her magical shield. "Garrack! Behind us!" She screamed and lashed the Death Knight attacking him with an Exorcism.

He too had been a human in life. "Afraid you're going to get beat by a _girl_?" She taunted, praying it would be enough to keep his attention. This has never been her strong suit.

He turned, his lip curling. Una was ready for his attack, but suddenly felt hard pressed keeping both occupied. She blocked and cut, not taking her eyes off their throats. Her arms throbbed with each block.

Magic that oddly looked and felt like the divine surged around Faraji. She felt it rush through her, closing her wounds and deadening her pain.

An agonized scream galvanized her as the first knight fell. However, another soon took his place. She couldn't see which of Garrack's men it was, only the stricken look on Faraji's face as magic flickered across his hands.

Thunderous roars from both Death Knights and Orcs and the shrieks of endless numbers of undead assaulted her ears. She dove and cut, always moving, attempting to stay one step ahead. Una flooded the earth at her feet again and again with holy energy, but the tide of ghouls kept coming. For every Death Knight that fell, it seemed as though another took their place.

Her magic sputtered and failed as dark energy swirled above her.

She dove away; lashing the one she suspected cast the spell with an Exorcism. Nantan pounced on him, teeth and claws shredding undead flesh. She came up, aiming an overhead swing at the back of a Gnome Death Knight.

Garrack suddenly shoulder checked her. Una landed hard. She stared up as he struggled with a Tauren Death Knight. An ugly spiked mace struck the Orc's shield with an impact that sounded like thunder. The Captain roared guttural taunts, his eyes glowing brilliant red. Nantan left the corpse of the Gnome she had intended to attack and raked his claws into a gap in the Tauren's armor.

Running footsteps. She leapt to her feet, slamming the incoming, undead Draenei with her shield. She put her weight into a diagonal slash, pounded him with an Exorcism, and followed by a Divine Storm. With nimbleness that belied his size, the knight dodged and parried like a machine.

She felt her back press against Garrack's massive one. He reached behind with one hand, his battered fingers brushing her hip.

The Draenei grinned, a horrible rictus smile that chilled her to her core. She dove to the side as Garrack spun. He brought his sword up and around in a vicious roundhouse. Una came up behind, slashing the Knight's back. Caught between them, he fell quickly.

The paladin sensed the approach of more undead and raced forward to face it. A creature was lumbering inexorably towards the battle; grotesquely deformed, towering, and obese. The abomination burbled in surprise as she attacked, holy energy crackling over its misshapen form. Una allowed the Light to fill her and guide her attacks. Out of the corner of her eye, angelic wings of pure energy crackled and hissed from behind her. She screamed with fury as she unleashed everything she had.

She heard a feral roar as Tallak unleashed a barrage of arrows. Each bolt came within a breath of her, but each of them neatly clearing.

It was quickly dispatched, but it was merely the first of a new wave of undead and Death Knights. Her world was reduced to flashing steel, glowing blue runes, and waves of undead. She dodged, cut, and wove through, only focusing on staying alive.

As she finished off the last ghoul, she realized it was too quiet. Una looked around her in alarm. She was alone. A line of unmoving undead outlined the path she had taken. Now, she was somewhere deep in unfamiliar woodlands, far away from assistance.

She could follow the corpses back to the men, but she'd likely face more Death Knights along the way.

She started to run towards the nearest cover. It was a small strand of those strange mushrooms, but it would give her cover while she tried to determine her best course of action.

Hoof beats, growing closer fast. She spun. The paladin saw the flash of a runed blade and cold flared across her cheek. She sent more Holy energy into the ground at her feet until the dead earth burned with her power.

The Knight screamed in torment and his Death Charger faltered. His mount was nearly dead. A quick Exorcism finished it off. The Death Knight was forced to inelegantly leap from the saddle as the beast's body collapsed.

Una pressed the attack, aiming for his less protected groin area. He blocked and slashed, attempting to get past her guard. She backed into the mushrooms and a cloud of dust-like spores erupted.

The paladin lunged into clear air. The mushroom she'd backed into toppled to the ground, sending up a larger cloud of spores. Blinded, he staggered away.

She grasped her sword with both hands as divine energy arced and hissed around her like lightning. The blade found his face. With a scream of fury, she savagely twisted her sword free.

He fell. Panting, she sidestepped around his fallen body.

Una started to jog away when she heard a sudden hiss of magic followed by a groan of armor.

She spun as the defeated Death Knight climbed to his feet. Hakander had warned her about this. The young woman had never thought she'd witness it firsthand. In the span of this battle, she'd seen it repeatedly.

The Death Knight hesitated, momentarily disoriented from reanimation.

Una swept in with a scream of fury, pushing her advantage while he recovered. The Death Knight tried to run. The paladin slammed into him with an explosion of light. There was a gap where his leathers were visible. She clasped both hands to her sword and rammed him with all her might.

He fell, his glowing eyes wide as she wrenched her sword from his body with a sickening noise.

Looking around frantically, she spotted an old spear sticking from the side of a long-abandoned Scourge machine. She plunged it through the Death Knight's armor and as deep into the ground as she could, hoping it would be enough to pin him there if he reanimated again in a few more seconds.

And then she ran. The elf didn't care where she was going, only that she needed to get away. The weaker Death Knights seemed to be only able to maintain their reanimation for a few seconds. If she could outrun him, he'd expire for good before he caught her.

Low mountains stretched out before her. She hoped they were the mountains to the north, the hill country that would eventually become the Burned Wood… the Ghostlands.

Breathing was getting difficult and a stitch was forming in her side. Nausea threatened as she inadvertently continued to swallow blood.

Panting, Una stumbled into the cover of a stand of fir trees. She squatted, sucked in deep breaths, and occasionally spat mouthfuls of blood into the dead grass at her feet.

She had no idea where she was. The thick forest had thinned out, returning to sparsely growing, blighted fir trees. There wasn't a road or homestead in sight. Nothing in the way of landmarks to help her find her way.

The paladin was dismayed when she noticed she wasn't catching her breath quickly. She felt for where the pain was worst, a line going from under her left armpit down her side and then under her armor across her left breast. Her hand found a deep wound in her side. Her mind lurched in fear as she realized her armor had failed. The side panel that should have protected her side had slid at some point, creating a gap. A hole the Death Knights had exploited. She had never felt it, until now.

Adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay, but she was acutely aware the wound penetrated her lung. She awkwardly reached under her breastplate and gambeson to tear strips from her undershirt for a makeshift bandage.

Once bandaged, she used the last of her mana on the wound, hoping it would be enough to at least heal her lung. It didn't feel like it, but it was as good as she was going to get.

Una gingerly felt the rent through her right cheek. As her fingers entered her mouth through her cheek, dread shot through her veins. Her fingers had touched her teeth. She traced it with quivering fingertips, feeling it all the way past her jaw, through her right earlobe, and around the back of her head.

"By the Light…" She whispered in terror. With no more mana and her medical kit on Vesper, she was powerless to close the wound… if she could even figure out how. She spat yet another mouthful of blood.

She startled as a howl sounded in the distance. The elf held her breath, pressing herself tight against the tree. It came again. The howl was the recognizable bay of an Orcish wolf. Una's heart leapt with joy.

Tallak was searching for her. All she had to do was remain hidden. He would find her and help her.

Crouching low in the brush, she focused on taking deep breaths. A punctured lung wouldn't kill her immediately, but she was already having some difficulty breathing.

The wolf came within view, his muzzle stained crimson. Una stumbled from her cover, holding her arms out.

"Dust!" She called to the animal as it closed distance, "Dust, here!"

She froze in horror.

A gunshot wound to the side of his head had burned the fur and torn away part of his ear. A length of intestine hung from the wolf's abdomen and a brutal cleave through the chest bared ribs and breastbone.

Grief and fear coursed through her. Una clapped a hand to her mouth and fought to control her panic.

The now-undead wolf came to a halt, tipped his head back, and howled once more. A horrible equine scream answered.

Dust lowered his head, a baleful growl carrying across the distance separating them.

Una drew her sword and stepped into a ready stance. A daughter of rangers, she knew running from a tracking dog – or wolf – was pointless. Her only chance was to kill it and hope she would have time to find new cover.

The animal charged with a furious snarl, fangs bared.

She dodged. It landed, spun, and bounded at her once again.

Una lunged forward while he was still airborne, driving her sword through his chest. The tip erupted from his back. Teeth closed upon her steel gauntlet, biting down.

The elf ripped her sword free, kicking the animal away from her.

There was a faint, heart-breaking whimper. She brought her blood stained blade through Dust's neck, separating his head from his body.

The scream of a death charger echoed across the Plaguelands once again.

Una turned and ran, stumbling through the underbrush where she had previously hid. She had to make for the hills, attempt to escape into the Ghostlands, and hope they weren't tracking her.

Her mind revolted. Of course they were tracking her!

Judging by the wolf, Tallak was probably dead and reanimated by now. Her scent, the sweat and blood coming from her body, her pulse and breath would all leave a trail as clear as Quel'dori crystal. Her parents had tried to teach her how to cover her tracks, but Una had never had an aptitude for the ways of the forest, no matter how much she loved it.

She ran in terror, trying to put as much distance between herself and the wolf as possible. Put herself out of the search path and into dense cover.

A signal flare arced into the sky above the thickening, healthier pine that marked the boundary of the Ghostlands. There were people in the pass. Elves, most likely.

If she could make her way to the Thalassian Pass, she could make it to safety.

She felt the Death Grip as it closed around her from behind. As she was taught, she relaxed her body as she was hauled backwards. Her mind emptied and calm overtook her.

Una struck the ground and bounced once. She felt a wet pop in her right leg.

She climbed to her feet as the Death Knight laughed. He had been a Night Elf once, his glossy blue-black hair showing under the edges of the spiked helm. She gingerly put weight on her leg and found it stable. If she survived, she had no doubt she would feel it later.

"Come," She said wearily, "I tire of your kind."

He laughed. In life, he probably had an infectious, deep, booming laugh. In death, it rang hollow and cold.

He withdrew a spiked, two-handed axe from his back.

That axe meant trouble. He could put so much more force into his swings than she could. As tall as he was, he had greater reach. She was exhausted and probably starting to go into shock.

Una charged, keeping her center of gravity low. She dropped and slid on her hip as she passed, driving her entire weight feet-first into his knee. Living or dead, it still only took only a few pounds of force to damage joints.

If he felt anything, the dead elf gave no indication. Una scrambled to her feet and ran. However, he wasn't moving quickly as the leg failed to support his weight.

Her sword nipped and bit at him to no avail. He was doing too good a job keeping her back, but still within range of that awful axe.

His axe hooked her right arm. Una jerked her arm away frantically. Her gauntlet hung upon a spike. She heard her arm break as the Death Knight wrenched the axe sharply.

The elf woman freed herself and vaulted away. She didn't dare look at her arm.

She darted in for another attack. The ground suddenly steamed at her feet, her boots sinking into the reeking, desecrated soil.

The Death Knight gave a roar of triumph as she was slowed in melee range.

The axe came down. Una felt it crash into her left shoulder as she brought her sword up under his guard. Painfully, she clasped her right hand around the grip. Watched as though in slow motion as each finger managed to curl around. With a scream, she swung through his neck.

Brief resistance.

The Death Knight crumbled, taking the horrible weight off her.

Una swayed as she stumbled backwards and out of the desecrated soil at her feet. The air was thick with the smell of her own blood and that of the Scourge.

She stared dizzily at the unmoving, headless body of her opponent. There were arrows protruding from the headless corpse that weren't there previously. It confused her.

The young woman fell to her knees unexpectedly, feeling as if the world bucked and heaved under her. She fought the approach of unconsciousness, but she was drowning in darkness.

Running footsteps behind her.

As she felt herself slump to the ground, she could only pray they didn't see fit to reanimate her.


	10. Chapter 10: Aftermath

**Author's Note: This chapter is NSFW** and contains graphic depictions of injuries as well as slash. (Not to mention a good dose of angst!)

KooriRoninHeart posed a challenge to me to write outside my comfort zone: Slash/YAOI. I think I did a pretty good job, considering I've never written slash before. Please let me know what you think. (I love reviews, by the way!)

Thanks again for beta reading, Sis! Also thanks to Rooietroll for your wonderful review. As always, your reviews make a smile.

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Aftermath**

**I.) Possession  
Shattrath City, Terrokar Forest, Outland**

"Have your identification papers ready!" Ashal Orlinde bellowed to the assembled crowd of Sin'dorei refugees. Every shouted word made him acutely aware of each and every vein in his forehead and temples. "No exceptions!"

The elves before him muttered anxiously as the Blood Knights patiently and systematically checked for identification. Some of the more desperate continued to shout; demanding they simply let them pass. They were a miserable group gathered on the lawn of an old church, including an appalling number of small children.

Ashal gazed beyond the half-ruined courtyard walls where his Blood Knights, Argent Dawn, and Shattrath City Peacekeepers held the undead at bay. While the unliving couldn't set foot on the consecrated ground, they could come frighteningly close.

A stiff wind blowing into the bowl-like valley rustled their clothes and mussed their hair. Eddies of air bouncing off the gray and tawny stones swept up debris, dead leaves, and litter and spun it upwards. Some of the pilgrims startled and ducked as debris blew over the crowd and down into the Lower City.

The situation was growing ever tenser as time progressed. The refugees were being separated based on priority, which did nothing to help with the threatening panic. Families with children were given first priority, followed by wounded based on triage, healthy individuals, and finally the deceased. Somewhere in the mass of elves came the sound of a baby crying. More cries resounded, demanding he allow them to pass.

Orlinde had been prepared for what he was experiencing from the moment he had been selected for this operation. The Scourge Invasion merely compounded an already complex mission. What had outwardly been a simple go to Outland, collect any their wayward brethren who wished to return to Quel'thalas, and transport them home was anything but simple.

There were politics involved, conflicting loyalties, and intrigue worthy of the Royal Court. Scryers hated Aldor, even though once they returned to Silvermoon City it wouldn't matter anymore. Other groups wanted to see the defected troops executed for their part in Kael'thas' crimes. To Ashal, it was all pointless and petty squabbling serving only to exacerbate his headache.

He had been hoping he could enlist more of the former Sunfury to help him maintain order. However, a number were suffering from withdrawal and complications with their addiction. In order to prevent them from questioning orders, most had been kept in a perpetually intoxicated state via special crystals.

While quite a few had assisted, others were content to sit back and let the situation unfold. It didn't help he was currently without rank and thus, unable to give orders with any real teeth to them. He had selected Blood Knights who knew him well enough to actually help him and those still owing him favors. Ashal was well aware he now owed favors to many of them.

Ever since his return to Silvermoon following his dismissal from the Sunfury at Manaforge Coruu, his life had been miserable. Not only was he deemed a failure by the so-called prince and made an example of, many in Silvermoon had turned their backs upon him as well.

Rather than returned to his former position of combat instructor, he found himself relegated to instructing not only the most disobedient students, but also the most self-entitled. Rather than back him when he needed to instill discipline, he felt as through the Academy had been working to undermine his authority at every turn.

Ashal had eventually found himself imprisoned under charges of assaulting a superior officer and public dissent. While he had never raised his hand to anyone nor publicly discussed his experiences in Outland, he was found guilty. He was stripped of all rank and title, as well as his position in the Academy.

Only now, in the aftermath of Sunstrider's betrayal, was he once again free but not clear. He would be lying if he said he wasn't embittered. It felt once again as if he were the designated scapegoat, guilty of wrongdoing so no one would have to face the unpleasant truth.

Lord Solanar Bloodwrath had approached him on behalf of Lor'themar Theron with this mission upon the very day of his release. The Regent Lord and his advisors weren't willing to simply hand him a pardon, despite the fact that his conviction was likely all a scheme.

"_Do this one task,"_ Lord Bloodwrath had said, _"And we'll consider further discussion."_

Thus, once again, he found himself jumping through hoops like the perfectly trained lapdog he was.

Growing restless and irritable, Orlinde wandered the rows of wounded, gazing down at each one in turn. Most were considered _walking wounded_; those with minor, non-life threatening injuries. Others were more serious, such as the wounds sustained by the Blood Knights he dispatched to assist with the task of protecting the pilgrims from the legions of undead.

Finally, he came to a small handful of wounded, carefully divided and placed into a small alcove along the wall. These had no identification; nothing at all to prove who they were. Some weren't even conscious to offer explanation. While they would likely return to Silvermoon City promptly, they would find themselves under arrest until their identity could be ascertained.

Ashal's eyes fell on a small male at the end of a row filled mostly with unidentified, wounded Sunfury troops. He was noticeably slight compared with those he lay beside. The red triage tag pinned to the blanket covering him placed him in the _serious_ category.

He nodded to his close personal friend, Sergeant Runean Emberblade, as he approached. Rune was attending to an unconscious female in Sunfury garb to the right of the small male.

Orlinde knelt at the elf's side. Dark contusions and scabbed abrasions marred his face, but Ashal could see the unconscious male was unquestionably young. He was too young to be here either as a soldier or as a pilgrim, but too old to have been born in Outland – even accounting for the possibility of accelerated aging. His head had been shaved entirely and was neatly wrapped in thick bandages. Despite the swelling and scabs, a scattering of freckles was visible across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

Ashal swore as he realized who he was looking at. The elf, who lay before him, unconscious and visibly gaunt, was none other than Walen Whitebrook.

Part of him wanted to be absolutely livid with the unresponsive youth. Walen had been an instrument in his exile from Outland and his subsequent imprisonment. All his troubles were this...

The black haired knight hung his head, momentarily disgusted with himself. Walen was a minor – an adolescent still several years away from becoming an adult. His family and he had been as taken in by the Sun Prince's lies as the rest of his people. If there was anyone he should be furious with, it should be Kael'thas for his deceit.

"This one was brought here with a skull fracture." Runean said matter-of-factly after he turned and knelt opposite of him. He flipped to Walen's page in the report he had been given and read, ""_Closed head trauma; surface burn to crown. Placed in medical coma."_" He sneered sarcastically, "How very kind of them to provide specifics."

Orlinde glanced at the pale elf as he flipped through the sheaf of papers in his hands, as though looking for more information. "Can he be moved?" He was dismayed when his inner argument made his voice waver. He bowed his head briefly and massaged the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to alleviate some of the pain.

Emberblade's voice sounded mildly perplexed, but only slightly. "I'd need to check him first, but he has no identification." There was a questioning turn to the phase.

"His name is Walen Whitebrook," Orlinde said curtly, "Son of Magister Eilonel Whitebrook. He was one of my students; I know his family well."

"One of your students? In the academy?" The medic brushed his strawberry blond bangs from his face, looking even more perplexed. His emerald eyes narrowed as his brain came to the logical conclusion. "He's a child, then?"

"He is." Ashal confirmed. "Have him moved to my room. I'll complete the paperwork and deliver him to his family personally." He frowned deeply and stroked his chin thoughtfully. When he had first undergone training as a paladin, he had cultivated a goatee in order to better fit in with the commonly bearded male humans. While it had been years, he retained the habit of stroking his chin.

The blond knight arched one eyebrow and gazed at him with a questioning expression.

The thought of _"why not"_ crossed his mind. Runean was one of his oldest friends and one of the few elves he could genuinely trust. They had trained together; fought together; slept together… he eyed the nape of the other's neck, knowing how his lips against that soft flesh would cause Rune to moan. Blaming exhaustion, he shook his head and spoke quietly, "He had been with the Sunfury..."

"As were you, Ash. _Some_ did come to their senses and desert; perhaps the boy did as well." Runean commented evenly, but lowered his voice to match his. The medic donned a pair of surgical gloves and began to deftly unravel the bandages around the youth's skull. "Let us see what's going on under these..."

"He couldn't have made it this far on his own, Rune! While I will admit he's as cunning as his brother, he's not _that_ skilled..." His voice trailed off as Runean unwrapped the last of the bandages.

While the report had mentioned a surface burn, it had failed to mention it delineated the unmistakable outline of a hand print. The skin contained within the print itself was uninjured, the healing blisters and peeling skin perfectly traced fingers and palm. It was as though someone had clamped their hand on Walen's head and cast a fire spell at point blank range.

Rune gave a half-sigh, half-growl of disgust. He gently pressed his hand to the print, examining its size in relation to his own hand. The healer frowned and magic flickered around his hand as he probed the youth's head injury beneath the burn. "I do wonder what happened."

"Ogres; Gronn; Ethereals; Arakoa; Naga; Broken; Fel Orcs; The Wyrmcult; The Legion; The Shadow Council – take your pick." Ashal said, standing to watch as a couple Blood Knights restrained a shouting, irate pilgrim.

"It's been healed – he's safe to evacuate." Rune glanced up at the fight. "You should get back to work."

"Of course." Ashal agreed but then turned back to the blond knight. "Keep this quiet, if you would. I don't need word getting out that he's receiving special treatment."

"Of course." Rune echoed. "Come by my rooms tonight; I suspect that headache is only going to get worse."

Ash jogged over to the scuffle, looking at the knights and pilgrim warily as he approached. The knights were two of those he had called in favors for their assistance. Their loyalty to him only went as far as fulfilling their part of the bargain. Each gave him a crisp salute and he returned it gratefully.

He assumed a pleasant tone, though the mannerism was forced, "What seems to be the trouble?"

The pilgrim looked him over, a sneer crossing his features. "Are you the one in charge of this rabble?"

"I'm…" Ashal eyed the two knights. Neither seemed poised to challenge him. "Commander Ashal Orlinde. Again, might I ask what the trouble is?"

"These…" The Pilgrim's lip curled, "These cretins! Say I may not enter!"

"Per your orders, sir." One knight said, stressing the word "sir." It wasn't at all unexpected for them to turn the pilgrim's ire on him.

"It would be my suggestion to get a room for the night and wait until tomorrow. We had greater numbers than expected." The black haired knight said with forced pleasantness. "But I assure you, you will be returned to Silvermoon in due time."

"Tomorrow!" The pilgrim nearly shouted. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"No, sir, I don't." Ash bit out, putting his hands on his hips. He loomed over the pilgrim, using his height and size in an attempt to intimidate. "However, the Regent Lord was very clear regarding evacuation priority."

"And he shall hear about this… this!"

"Inn or the stocks. My patience is limited." Ash interjected with a snarl. He resisted the urge to strike the smaller man. He glanced up at the knights, "If he gives you any further trouble: arrest him."

From somewhere in the Lower City came the cacophonous sounds of a band warming up. The local taverns and pubs usually featured live music starting at seven in the evening. It meant he only had one more hour before he would be relieved for the night.

Leaving the knights with the irate male, he wandered back through the courtyard, counting the minutes. It was an exercise in both patience and tact, neither of which he was especially known for and never when he was this fatigued. There was no end to the stream of pompous, self-serving wretches, all of whom felt they were too important to be forced to wait their turn.

It was a relief when he was able to relinquish control and retire for the evening. He could feel his pulse in his forehead, each one an exquisite throb of pain. The black haired paladin stumbled his way through Shattrath's busy streets, barely glancing at anything around him.

The inn they had claimed for this mission was too warm when he arrived; the stonework heated by the light of the sun and the rivers of energy coursing through the sky. It didn't matter. Soon he would be able to shed his clothing and relax.

Rune was busily making medicine when he arrived at his rooms, grinding and blending herbs into substances. The other paladin had set out a tankard of ale for him on a beaten side table next to an overstuffed chair upholstered in moldering velvet. There was also a sweating pitcher on the side table. A quick glance proved it was blessedly filled with more ale.

"I feel old." Ash announced wearily, dropping into the chair. He took a deep, greedy gulp of his ale, enjoying the sensation as the cold drink washed down his parched throat.

He wanted nothing more than to allow the stresses of the day to fade into a comfortable haze. Drown the nagging words of those pompous, vainglorious low-lives.

The first tankard was empty by the time he kicked off his boots and stripped the sweat dampened socks from his feet. The warm air of felt blessedly cool air upon his liberated feet. He stripped out of his armor, leathers, and his sweaty undershirt and allowed each to carelessly fall to the floor. He collapsed back into the enveloping cushion of the chair.

Through the open window came the heady, exotic fragrance of Terrokar Jasmine. It blended and mingled with the sweet smell of fresh herbs and the warm aromas of the medicines Rune was working on. It was potent and soothing.

"I had the child placed in the room next to yours." The other commented casually. Rune hadn't moved from where he was continuing to compound ointments and creams for the wounded. The rhythmic grind and clink of the marble mortar and pestle in his hands was hypnotic.

"I'm going to fall asleep at this rate." He remarked sleepily as the blond paladin continued to work.

Rune paused to take a sip of his own ale and said unsympathetically, "Such a loss. Maybe I might get a turn for once."

"Jackass." He grumbled, drained his tankard, and leaned over to pour himself another. He knew it wouldn't escape Rune's notice, but he said nothing. The former priest would have worked frantically at one point to have kept him sober. Keep him away from the behaviors that had characterized his adolescence and early adulthood. Much had changed that he now encouraged him into drink and physical pleasure.

Rune's hands on his shoulders startled him. He realized he must have dozed off. The healer's thumbs pressed deeply into muscles of his shoulders, rubbing in slow, deep, penetrating circles. It danced at the edge of pain and beyond, forcing the stiffness from his shoulders. Ash hissed and pulled away to stand, rolling his shoulders to work the pain out.

Rune leaned on the back of the chair and watched him, content not to chase him. It was an odd sensation, being at the mercy of another. He liked being the one in control. To relinquish it was difficult, but at the same time: intriguing. His headache was slowly easing. He strode towards the bed, noting the grin of triumph on Rune's face as the healer started to disrobe.

He laid prone upon the bed, turned his head to the side, and shut his eyes. There was the pop of a cork and the smell of lavender and earthroot suddenly added to the aromas already filling the room. Warm oil trickled across his back, making his skin tingle as it flowed over his muscles. He breathed it in as greedily as he had drunk the ale that was turning the room into a comfortable haze.

Rune's hands massaged his back, rubbing in long, fluid strokes. He kneaded and caressed each muscle in turn, not stopping until the tension they held melted away and he found himself stretched languidly upon the sheets. Not thinking; not feeling; doing nothing but breathing in the scents of the room.

The former priest's hands stopped at his padded leather breeches. Ash rose up slightly, unbuttoned them, and allowed Rune to pull them from him along with his underwear.

He felt himself stiffen as Rune's hands rubbed down his waist and down across his ass. More oil trickled down his crack and across his balls. Ash felt his pulse quicken. A thrill of uncharacteristic fear ran through him, momentarily sobering him. He wasn't in control. He fought the unwelcome emotions, willing himself to calm down. Rune seemed to sense his inner battle. His hands roamed up his back in long, smooth strokes intended to soothe.

When he had calmed, Rune's hands once more returned to his ass, tracing between his crack and circling the small hole. Ash shuddered with want as Rune's fingers continue to move, tracing down to cup his sack. He felt himself harden and lifted off the sheets onto his knees to give the other better access.

He moaned with lust as the blond elf started to pump his cock with oil slick hands, quickly bringing him to his first release.

Rune's heated length brushed him as he moved into position. A finger once again circled his anus and he shuddered with desire. Rune's finger slowly entered him and started to move, followed by a second finger.

"Just do it!" He growled lustfully. He couldn't take much more of this.

Rune pushed into him slowly, easing himself in. Pain throbbed at the intrusion as the blond started to thrust. Soon they were rocking together. The pain ebbed slightly as his body adjusted, leaving only pleasure in its wake. Rune leaned over him, his fingers digging into his hips as he slammed into him again and again. With a cry, Rune released, spilling deep into him.

When their passions had faded, Ash rolled out of bed and made his way over to the chair and small table. As usual, he wasn't satisfied, but it would have to do. If he was going to get Walen home soon, he had to start on the paperwork. At the very least, he could use another drink. To his dismay, the pitcher was empty.

"Any more ale?" He asked. He still had an entire night to get through and he didn't want to be sober.

"No more." Rune stated firmly. He was reclined upon the mattress, his pale body glistening with sweat.

Ash grumbled peevishly as he redressed himself. There was the Rune he knew.

Even in the middle of the night, Shattrath City was a city in motion. Though the window, he could see all manner of flying machines, gryphons, wyverns, riding dragons, and nether rays filled the eternally too-bright skies. The streets were full of carts, refugees, and adventurers all mingling in the darkened streets. One of the roads into the city flashed with lightning-like explosions of magic as more zombies were dealt with. With a shake of his head, the Blood Knight continued down the darkened hallway to his room.

Ashal opened his door to find a document sized envelope bearing the seal of the Blood Knights. Breaking the wax, he found they were the identification documents he needed to fill out for Walen.

After a shower, he made himself comfortable before sitting down at his desk to begin filling out the papers. The comfortable, hazy buzz was continuing to fade though he still felt blessedly mellow.

A shuffling noise brought his attention to the door. Walen had apparently awoken at some point and was making his way into the room. He was moving slowly, painfully, and with a limp. His left foot dragged the ground, apparently unable to hold much of his weight.

"About time you come to, _Initiate_ Whitebrook." He said crisply in Thalassian, stressing the title as he returned his gaze to the papers before him. He saw no point in addressing him by any other title. He pointed to the spare chair next to the desk with his quill, "Sit."

He continued filling out the current form to the best of his memory. It was fortunate Walen had come to. While much of the information he knew, due to spending years traveling with his elder brother and grandfather, there were items he didn't know such as his exact date of birth.

The Blood Knight realized the young elf hadn't moved. He glanced up to see him still standing in the middle of the room, looking down at the floor.

"Or stand." He said, rolling his eyes. Wounded or not, he wasn't in the mood to deal with adolescent drama. "Care to tell me what happened?"

"It's in here." Walen's voice was slurred as though he were drunk.

"Excuse me?" Ashal frowned and looked up from the paper to stare at the youth.

He was swaying on his feet, his eyes turned down at the moth-eaten, violet rug at his feet. In his hand was a tattered book. He held it by one corner of the cover, allowing it to hang open in his hand.

"It's all... in _here_." The youth repeated, gesturing aggressively to the book in his hands. The gesture nearly threw him off balance. He still hadn't met his eyes, as though the intricate floral patterns at his feet had him mesmerized. "It's about _this_."

"What's in there?" Orlinde asked, adopting as soothing a tone as possible so he didn't alarm him. Walen was evidently in an altered state of mind.

Ash rose from the desk and walked slowly to the youth. There were things that would allow someone to run on broken legs and fight through mortal wounds. The elder knight had the sudden surge of rage as he pondered what drugs Walen had been given before he left the Sunfury.

"It's in here." Walen repeated vacuously. "It explains."

"Not quite the answer I was looking for. What does it explain?" The black haired knight stopped short of the young elf before him. Orlinde paused to regard the book. Walen was fixated on it, whatever it was. Though unless the author was some manner of prophet, he sincerely doubted anyone could have predicted this bizarre scene unfolding before him. It had been years since he felt this spooked.

"It's in here." Walen insisted once more, gesturing towards the book. "It's about this."

Ashal was getting tired. So far, this exchange had gotten him nowhere. "Of course, I will review it later. Can you tell me what happened? How did you get here?"

"Blind hunter and silver goat, in a cage in the mountains." Walen said in a dreamy, childlike tone. "Legion in trouble..."

The older elf hesitated and then reached out to clasp the slender youth's shoulder. His words were walking a disturbing line between making no sense whatsoever and making perfect sense. Demon hunters were blind and _goat men_ was the nickname for the Draenei people due to their horns and cleft hooves. Both had valid reasons to hunt the Legion.

The youth shook his head and swayed under his grasp. "... Legion in trouble if they get out."

"Your father is going to have to have you detoxified before we'll be able to do anything with you." Ashal sighed and gave him what he hoped was a calm, reassuring smile. He beckoned to the bed, "Come, it's time to sleep."

"No! It's all about in this." Walen said forcefully, extending the book out to him and then allowing his arm to drop. The book fell from his grasp and to the carpet. He bent to retrieve it, but fumbled with it. Apparently his fine motor skills were afflicted as well. "No, no, no, no-no, no!"

"Easy! Easy!" Ash said in a placating tone, stooping over in a carefully smooth gesture. "Whatever it is, you have my vow I will see it done."

He finally caught a glimpse of the youth's eyes and stopped midway. What should have been glowing emerald was dark. He dropped slightly, but the youth leaned his head away from him. With a growl, he stood, cupped his face firmly, and forcibly tilted Walen's face to the light. Both eyes were dilated widely, leaving only a razor-thin ring of green around his pupils. They weren't adjusting either.

Alarmed, he grasped the youth by the shoulders, "Walen, I need you to focus. What did they give you?" He gave him a slight shake to emphasize. The brown haired Initiate's eyes were dilated far beyond normal. Orlinde knew of a number of substances firsthand that could cause such an effect and might explain his altered state of mind as well. "Did they give you something?"

A hand closed upon his crotch. An odd, throaty laugh escaped Walen's lips as he leaned into him. His eyes had impossibly dilated further.

"Remove your hand." He ordered in a growl, emphasizing each word as he spoke.

"Do I scare you..." The youth hissed. It wasn't a question and it certainly didn't feel innocent.

Ash's hand snapped around the hilt of his sword as a flash of Fel energy flared around him. It kept coming, heavy and malevolent. He called upon his holy shield, knocking the youth away from him.

And then it was gone.

Panting, he gazed down at the youth sprawled on the rug at his feet. Against his better judgment, he crossed the distance. He dropped to kneel, pressing his fingers against Walen's neck to take his pulse.

"Commander... I'm scared." Walen whispered. His eyes were still dilated, but he seemed momentarily lucid.

"Believe me, so am I." He said with a forced calmness.

He scooped the Initiate up and carried him to his bed. He was falling asleep once more as he laid him upon the mattress. Ash sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at him for long moments, listening to his own heart pounding. He had no doubt that if he were to fetch Rune; he'd find the adolescent was back in a coma.

The Blood Knight looked over at the book Walen had been holding. It lay forgotten on the carpet, the pages curled under its own weight.

He rose and retrieved it, carefully returning the pages to their proper places out of habit. He flipped the cover to read the title page: _Wobblespan's Big Book of Bedtime Tales_. Ash looked around him, unsure of where Walen had even found a children's book in a seedy, barely operating inn like this. A set of smudges along the edge of pages near the back of the book caught his attention. Then he spotted a bit of soiled bandage marking a spot.

He flipped to it and found himself in a section dedicated to scary bedtime stories. He skimmed and felt his stomach drop. The tale was about a doll possessed by a demon after a child had altered the toy to make it fearsome. He could only presume Walen had marked the spot himself, though it seemed unlikely given his state of mind. At this point in time, anything was likely.

Ashal shut the book and cupped his face in his palm.

This wasn't the type of decision he was fond of making. If he reported what just happened, Walen would be killed. Silvermoon City simply didn't have the resources to deal with demonic possession. Within the Horde, such matters were dealt with a swift death. They would be sure Walen wouldn't suffer, but it hardly felt fair. If he didn't report, there was a chance he would be executed himself after an equally swift court-martial.

However, Magister Whitebrook was a powerful mage with connections to the Kirin Tor. If Walen was conveniently found to be possessed _after_ he was turned over to his father, it would likely be dealt with in Dalaran City. The magi would assure that he would at least have a chance at survival.

Orlinde sighed heavily. He was quickly convincing himself to go with the ruse. Claim only suspicion of drug usage – common among the former Sunfury – and let his father discover his true condition. As much benefit as he saw, he was acutely aware of the cruelty of his plan.

* * *

**II.) Scourge-borne**

**Eastern Plaguelands, Eastern Kingdoms**

Garrack lowered his rifle with a grimace of pain as Tallak and Dizzy did the same with their bow and gun.

The elf didn't seem to hear them as she staggered backwards. Garrack recognized the signs indicating she was about to faint, but knew there was no way he could intervene in time.

Nantan called to her once more as he raced to the paladin's aid. Her knees soon buckled and she slumped to the ground. The druid reached her only moments after she fell, followed closely by Faraji.

The battle was over and they had emerged victorious. However, to Garrack the victory was hollow.

The death knights had specifically been seeking _him _under the presumption he was one of the secret leaders of the Argent Dawn. They intended to not only to kill him, but turn him into a weapon against his allies. The female knight had made that much very clear.

While he had indeed led men in both a unit and in the full-scale siege of Naxxramas, he was not that high ranking. He was respected within their ranks and, in fact, still held his rank as commander emeritus. Being part of the assault had been his finest accomplishment and had brought great honor to his family and to the Horde.

That success had just led to perhaps his greatest failure. Rather than getting his men and the girl to safety, he had put them in serious jeopardy. Guilt weighed heavily upon him.

The Captain raised his arm as Tallak ducked under it and took his wrist in his right hand. An excruciating spasm ran like lightning down his injured back and into his legs, drawing forth a pained grunt. He gasped as another rush of pain flared as the hunter stood straight and they began to walk. Each step was agony.

He had a flash of ironic humor and allowed himself a single, quiet chuckle. If he was the betting type, he'd waged he had broken – or at least cracked – vertebrae. While he wasn't a healer, the symptoms seemed right: severe back pain radiating down into his legs and back stiffness. _Garrack _Backbreaker _with a broken back_, he mused silently to himself. He figured it was perhaps a form of karma to suffer from an injury he had inflicted so many times. He was covered lacerations and puncture wounds both large and small, though Faraji had seen to it that he wouldn't bleed to death.

The morbid humor was a helpful – if momentary – distraction from not only his despair, but also the grim knowledge all of them had been exposed to weaponized plagues. It was only a matter of time before they all started getting sick. Dealing with the diseases was the final challenge of dealing with Death Knights. Scourge-borne diseases could kill you long after you dispatched the carrier. The only question left was how many strains had they been dosed with.

If Tallak heard his chuckle, he didn't show it. While always taciturn, the brown haired orc always grew more reticent whenever he was injured. His mail was spotted with blood, though most of it wasn't his. Out of all of them, the hunter was perhaps the least injured.

He cast a look sideways at Faraji's son as he uttered a restrained, but loud gasp. Dizzy leaned heavily on his rifle as he walked, using it as a crutch as he lurched unsteadily on his feet. The young troll was half curled around his midsection, bandages around his waist visibly stained with blood. He was withdrawn, almost appearing shell-shocked.

Normally, the seventeen-year-old would be boasting that he could fire his weapon one-handed. This time, it had all been a matter of necessity. Dizzy's left arm hung useless in a makeshift sling, laid open to the bone and sinew during the battle. His father had stopped the bleeding, but there was little else that could be done at the moment. For the first time in the months he had been under Backbreaker's command, the rogue quietly suffered at their side.

Their worgs trailed behind them, their coats flecked with blood from their own wounds. Nantan's kodo drifted even further back, but still close. He felt pride at their training. They had fought at their sides, holding the tide of undead back. Only Tallak's wolf and the Paladin's charger had been lost. Garrack had put the wolf out of its suffering himself, only to have a Death Knight raise it. Fortunately, both animals were expendable.

Faraji and Nantan were starting to cut Una's armor from her body, flinging it away in their haste. He could see the elf's freckled face had been laid open by a sword stroke. As they cautiously lifted her breastplate and started to cut away her leathers, he could see signs of other injuries.

"Help me lay next to her." He said quietly to Tallak, "Close enough that she can see me clearly if she comes to." The elf was already notoriously timid around members of the Horde; Garrack wagered she'd outright panic if she woke up.

The hunter nodded almost imperceptibly.

Faraji glanced up as he laid down to her left, but returned immediately to his work. Beads of sweat dampened the hair around his bald crown, turning his yellow hair darker. "She be badly wounded, Mon. Good ting we be findin' her when we did."

"Yeah, good thing." Garrack rumbled. He blinked spots of color and light from his vision as the worst of the pain from lying down faded.

Tallak again mutely nodded his agreement as he painfully lowered himself to the ground. Dizzy sat down shakily behind the hunter and rested his head in his palm.

Nantan sighed in both exhaustion and exasperation before he tried casting a healing spell upon her once again, "My magic is spent..." The Tauren laid a hand trembling with weariness upon the elf's battered shoulder. It was misshapen, her entire arm far too low. While her armor had protected her from the knight's axe, the sheer force of the blow had broken the bones beneath.

It was impressive that she had managed to decapitate the knight with her arm and shoulder like that. The orc had a feeling her ancestors had to have been fighting at her side.

"Nearly outta mojo too." The priest said. "Just do ya best. Immobilize da broken bones. Da elves can heal dem."

"It doesn't need to be fancy." Garrack concurred. "Just enough to safely transport her." He spotted two pendants the elf had been wearing resting on top of the clothes they had cut from her body. While he easily picked up the gold circle, it took him several tries to grasp the delicate chain of the other with his swollen fingers. He tucked them into his coin pouch for safe keeping.

"She swallowin' a lotta blood." The priest ceased working on her side and laid a three-fingered hand on the elf's abdomen. Despite being severely fatigued, magic flickered across his palm. "It be comin' up soon, I tink." He paused, as though considering. "Turn her."

"Watch her shoulder!" Nantan advised in a grunt as they rolled the elf onto her left side and held her there. With her left shoulder so badly damaged, it was a less than ideal position. They were likely causing further damage by placing her in this position. However, it was preferable to her possibly drowning in her own blood.

Garrack held her head, stroking her temple as they waited. He had a hunch she was coming to. Finally her body started to rid itself of the blood she had swallowed.

Una jerked spastically, her eyes flying open. She gave a short, gurgling cry of fright as she vomited more blood.

"Easy! Easy, Una." Garrack told her hurriedly. She heaved once more, but produced nothing. She laid there fighting for breath for several long moments, coughing and gagging.

The sound of her wheezing gasps was troubling. The captain pointedly stared at Faraji and the healer returned the look of concern.

After several more minutes, she recovered enough to blankly stare at him. He watched her eyes try to focus and knew she was likely confused and disoriented. "Garrack?" She croaked.

"I'm here." He said, brushing a lock of bloody, matted hair away from her face. He could tell from the elf was starting to panic as her ragged breathing was sounding progressively worse. "Relax."

"Garrack, see if you can clean her facial wound." Nantan said, offering him a few gauze sponges. "Perhaps it will calm her."

The elf cried shrilly in pain as Nantan and Faraji slowly rolled her onto her back. The veteran was glad he was lying down; that scream had left his heart racing and his nerves on edge. The troll gently turned her head so she could continue to look at him.

"Relax," Backbreaker started by wiping the regurgitated blood from her lips and chin. "Relax and take deep breaths."

The elf shut her eyes and obediently took shuddering breaths. "Again." Garrack prompted as he gently mopped the edges of her wound. He continued to prompt her for several, long minutes as they worked.

"What's... the damage?" Una asked, out of breath after just the short question. He didn't like the frail, reedy quality of her voice or the bluish cast developing on her normally pink lips.

"I wish you'd save your strength." He sighed heavily as he lightly wet another sponge with some water from his canteen and started to dab the gash through her ear lobe. The orc had been hoping he could keep her quiet. "Frankly, elf, you're going to look like the rag doll I nicknamed you after when they're done." He stroked under her chin with the side of his finger. "You fought well and with great honor; rest now."

Una shut her eyes, her lips quivering slightly as she sighed. He continued to clean the wound, careful to remove as much debris as he could. Faraji was bent over her, pouring healing magic into the hole in her side. Nantan had finished splinting her leg and was wrapping it with bandages. She made a feeble mewling noise.

"None of that!" The captain growled sternly. The more she panicked, the more blood flowed from her wounds and the harder it became for her to breathe. Crying would only further complicate things.

"I'm going... to die... aren't I?" She said in a broken whisper. He understood. To die in the Plaguelands was a terrifying idea, even to him.

"I won't sugarcoat it: you're badly wounded." Garrack said evenly as he exchanged a soiled sponge for more fresh ones. "But you're _not_ mortally wounded. Once you're stable, we'll start limping to Silvermoon."

"I can't... sense the Light..." The paladin whimpered.

The orc frowned, "I don't know how these things work, but you're exhausted. Let's not worry about that until..." Garrack's voice trailed off as he watched a tear trickle down her freckled cheek. The trail it left in the wake of its passage was pale and in stark contrast to the rest of her face. He suddenly noticed a faint, disturbingly familiar odor emanating from her body. Garrack lightly brushed a sponge across her forehead and it came away with a fine, dark, powder-like substance.

Captain Backbreaker looked at the sponges he had already used. The powder was on those too. He ran his fingers through her auburn hair. The strands left more of that same residue on his skin. He normally wouldn't have cared that the elf was dirty. It was part and parcel with the role she had chosen for herself. This powder coated her skin, her hair, and her armor. It would be in her eyes and her lungs. His eyes landed on the open wounds on her chest and cheek in alarm.

He hesitantly lifted the sponge to his nose. The cotton had a sickly sweet yet strongly fungal odor. The last time he had smelled anything like this was the Plague Quarter of Naxxramas. The Captain swore. He didn't like where his thoughts were going.

"What in the hell did you get into?" He asked in a growl. It was more forceful than he intended, but he needed to know.

Her lips moved as if to speak, but was interrupted as Faraji probed her injury. Una stiffened, an agonized cry tearing from her. The troll frantically cursed in his native tongue and cast another spell followed by yet another. Her eyelids flickered briefly as she fainted once more.

"Got it!" Faraji exclaimed triumphantly after a moment. The paladin's breathing eased; each breath sounding easier and clearer as his spell continued to work. "Don' ya _ever_ be scarin' dis ol' troll like dat again." He crooned and softly patted the unconscious woman's head before turning his attention to the wound on her face.

Deciding against asking what had just happened, Garrack rolled onto his knees and elbows. The orc rested his head on the ground as he panted against the flash of pain that rippled all the way down to his toes. He heard Tallak groan as he stood and his quiet steps until he was beside and behind him. The hunter's arms closed under his arms.

"One..." His clansman said, tightening his grip. Captain Backbreaker stole himself against the pain. "Two... three!" With a cry, he pushed himself up as Tallak pulled him upwards simultaneously. The edges of his vision turned gray and hazy as he reached a standing position. He took deep breaths and the faintness passed.

Technically, none of them were in any condition to ride. If his back truly was broken, he could wind up paralyzed or worse. The elf obviously had internal injuries and Otieno was barely keeping himself upright. However, they had little choice. After the first signal flare he had seen, he'd seen no other signs of life in the pass.

They were on their own.


	11. Chapter 11: Hollow

**Chapter 11 – Hollow**

* * *

**Author's Note: **This chapter is NSFW for general ickiness and slightly suggestive overtones near the end.

I'd like to thank KooriRoninHeart, Rooietroll, pacificuser, 98kiko, and Seleya Soulfire for your great reviews! Reading those really made my day!

As usual, reviews of any kind are very much welcome. Good, bad, or ugly – I love reviews regardless.

Thanks to KooriRoninHeart for beta reading this for me. Love ya, Sis!

* * *

Pain was the first thing Una Whitebrook felt as awareness slowly returned. It grew with each heartbeat until it roared in her ears and pulsated deep in her bones. She was aware of each broken bone, the tears and punctures through her flesh, and the Scourge infections racing through her veins like molten metal.

The young woman wanted to fight the onslaught or at least flee, but her body refused to comply. Una couldn't even scream, she was completely powerless to do anything but suffer in a sea of absolute darkness.

The young paladin tried to reach out for the Light. Nothing happened. Only the deepest void lay where her connection to the Light had once been. Had she been capable of doing so, she would have shuddered in grief. The Light would naturally flee if the wielder knowingly did something horrible. The young woman couldn't remember doing anything that would have stripped it from her. She was completely alone now, forsaken by even the Light.

The High Elf gradually became aware of a rocking sensation. It continued for an indeterminate span, each iteration bringing a new wave of pain. It dismayed her, but it wasn't for the pain. As perverse as it was, there was something else about it that confused her. Namely, she couldn't tell what the sensation exactly was. There wasn't anything to give her reference to what she was feeling. It didn't even come from a uniform direction as far as she could tell. No sight, sound, or smell; nothing but the rocking sensation and those waves of agony.

Una had always been told there were different kinds of pain. A veteran she had once met had told her there was pain and then there was pain that rendered a person down to their very soul. The young woman had never understood. Pain was transient; a fleeting sensation that would eventually come to pass and fade into memory. It was often a component to a priest's or paladin's spiritual trials, something intended to be dealt with, mastered, and triumphed over.

The only logical conclusion was that the Scourge had won. She was being _Scourged_ – rent down to nothing but a shade of her former self. Only now, too late, did she understand. This anguish was likely just the beginning of what would become an eternity of torment.

An odd sensation gave her a moment of pause from her anguish. It came again: A series of gentle tugs. She felt something light and warm flow through her that was simultaneously both foreign and familiar. It was like the Light, but different somehow.

"Una." Her name came as though it had to be chipped from a block of ice one syllable at a time. Whoever was speaking had was a strange way of saying it; putting so much emphasis on the first syllable, making her name sound more like _"oh-na"_ rather than _"oo-na."_ The pain started to slowly ebb with each beat of her heart until it was at last tolerable.

"Una." The voice repeated, more insistent and this time it sounded correct. She realized the rocking sensation had stopped and she had not felt it in some time. Something rough yet blessedly cool brushed her chin, patted her intact cheek, and the voice repeated her name. Words again, or what she assumed were words. The words – while gentle – were rough, guttural, and complete nonsense to her ears. Bit by bit, the darkness receded and the world crept into focus.

A male troll's weathered face was hovering over her own, his long, yellowed tusks scant inches from her face. She stared at him with feverish eyes as he continued to tend to her. Healing magic wreathed his palms as he gently cupped her bandage shrouded face.

The soft, golden glow felt like the Light, she was sure of it. Trolls didn't worship the Light; they worshiped whatever pagan animal gods they deemed fit. Their people had never been on especially friendly terms. Why would a troll be helping her?

Recognition gradually came as she grew more alert. She was staring up at Faraji.

Una stared in bewilderment, trying to make sense of what was happening. More gentle touches of that divine magic, doing its best to burn away the Scourge filth and banish her pain. Nothing at all felt right.

"I'm dreaming… aren't I?" Una whispered.

Faraji paused and appeared as though he was considering her words. The priest had removed his face paint at some point and she marveled at how such a small change had rendered him unrecognizable. The yellow haired priest stroked his narrow chin and mouthed the words she had said. At last he said apologetically with a shake of his head, "Common not good."

She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily. If it wasn't for the pain, the paladin would have been sure this was all a horrible nightmare. Given the fever she could feel raging within her, she couldn't be at all sure she wasn't hallucinating.

The brown haired woman slowly realized the branches overhead were different. Gone were the blighted pine and fir of the former Darrowmere Forest, replaced instead by bleached, twisted boughs of dead deciduous trees. She looked intently at the green, wraith-like vapors sinuously twisting through the branches, trying to decide what exactly they were. Thick fog had closed in around them. Una figured it was probably why they had stopped. It was as thick – if not worse – than the fog that had settled upon them in Duskwood all those months ago. It seeped through the naked branches of the dead tree and the blankets covering her.

"Una, look." Faraji gently tapped her face and pointed to her eyes and then his in turn, "Look up." She obediently did her best to focus, meeting the troll's gaze. Faraji was clearly ill, his amber eyes were rheumy and blood shot. A gnomish flashlight flicked to life and shone into her eyes, blinding her. Had she been capable of doing so, she would have shrunk against the assault. With a hand clad in a surgical glove, the priest gently held her eyes open and examined them. The light extinguished, plunging her into darkness. Her eyes were slow to recover, but she could hear him as he tunelessly hummed.

As her vision cleared, she watched Faraji put on a battered, patched stethoscope that had been haphazardly altered to fit a troll. Remembering the searing, white-hot pain in her chest from earlier, she sucked in a nervous breath as he pressed the diaphragm to her heart. She had no idea what that had caused the pain and wasn't sure she wanted to know.

After a moment, the troll's mouth flexed into a wan smile and he removed the earpieces from his ears, "It okay." Una let out the breath she had been holding.

A choking noise and sudden movement drew her attention to her left. Tallak scrambled away into the roots of the pale tree and vomited. Faraji paused and draped the stethoscope around his neck, watching him. She didn't know orcs well, but the hunter certainly looked very ill and the emerald light washing his emerald skin made him look worse.

She startled when she noticed the light actually came from the tree, emanating from green-glowing pustules that ran the length of the trunk. Sickly mushrooms and fungus were growing near the base of the tree, glowing with that same viridian light.

Una wanted to ask "Tallak, are you okay?" but her strength waned and her voice faltered. All that emerged was a few reedy syllables. Faraji inquired in Orcish and received a weak nod in response.

They were enveloped in thick, heavy darkness that was punctuated only by the ghostly, glowing lights from the growths and mushrooms. The Death Knights were out there searching for them, she was certain of it. This fog was their doing; slowing them down to allow their magic to continue its slow work of killing them.

Tallak slowly stood erect, coughed, and leaned heavily against the tree. Even from here, she could hear the noisy sound of his breathing. He was breathing too hard and too fast.

"Drink?" Faraji asked, his voice hoarse. She returned her gaze to the yellow-haired troll as he cleared his throat, gazing at the beads of sweat running down his face. "Drink, you need?" He repeated patiently.

"Please…" She whispered.

Faraji carefully helped her sit up slightly with one hand and brought a water skin to her mouth. The priest brushed her mouth with a water skin and the barest trickle of water caressed her chapped lips.

The elf woman licked her parched lips and swallowed what he had given her. The clean water tasted better than anything she had ever tasted. She greedily swallowed as the priest carefully poured more into her waiting mouth. Faraji admonished her gently in Orcish as she drank, drawing the skin away from her to force her to slow down.

As Una was laid back upon the blankets, heavy fatigue fell upon her. The simple act of drinking had left her spent.

Faraji's three fingered hands hovered over her face and a foul smell made her cringe. Una's eyes struggled to focus on his fingers; each was covered in different colors of paint. He was applying it in quick, practiced strokes to her exposed face, creating what felt like a symmetrical pattern. He continued down her neck and chest, his hands not lingering in any place for long as he formed the symbol. When the troll seemed satisfied, he wiped his hands off. He chanted in his tongue, shaking that red, wooden fetish she had seen earlier over her. He pressed a hand to the space between her breasts and strength flooded her being.

A smile of thanks was all she could think of. The troll gave her a weak smile in return and began to change her dressings.

"Tallak… where… are we?" The paladin rasped. At one point, she would have been sure he couldn't hear her. She knew better now.

"Ghostlands." Tallak wheezed as he slowly walked and stopped to her left. She could see the orc's lips and fingertips were mottled with darkness as he gazed dispassionately at the ground. He wasn't getting enough air. "Can't ride... in this fog."

"A signal… in pass?" Una asked. She had been sure she had seen a signal flare during the battle. Surely they had to be through the pass by now. That signal could only have meant there were people in the pass.

"Shh. Sleep." Faraji interrupted gently. The yellow haired troll then spoke to Tallak in Orcish; from the tone she guessed he was ordering the hunter to lay down.

Tallak began to lower himself down beside her, his face agonized. Faraji moved quickly to help him lay down. The warmth of the brown haired orc's body was oddly familiar and comforting. Una realized she must have been sleeping next to Tallak before he woke up. There was the warmth of another to her right as well, though the bandages blocked her from seeing who.

Faraji wrapped her in the blankets and moved out of sight. She could hear him talking softly in Orcish. From somewhere nearby came the horrible sound of wet, racking coughs. The coughing was higher pitched than the other men; the paladin could only assume it was Faraji's son.

Una had the sudden comprehension that to even _be_ in the Ghostlands, they had already passed through the ruins of the first Elf Gate. Somewhere behind her was where Aunt Illoria had died. Her body had likely long since returned to the earth, only perhaps leaving her bleached bones to testify that she had even existed. They had could have passed her without a second look. To the North, among the bones of those lost to the Dead Scar lay her grandfather's remains.

The High Elf would have sobbed if she had been able to, but all she could manage was a thin, threadlike whimper not unlike that of a small animal. She didn't want to be alone. Una desperately looked to her side, mentally begging Tallak to say something… anything. However, the hunter's breathing had softened and his expression relaxed. A soft snore emanated from his lips as he fell asleep. She knew the others had to be nearby, but with bandages shrouding much of her face, she couldn't see them.

Una started to whisper a prayer, imploring the Light for help.

Large, callused, trembling fingers touched the fingertips of her right hand, the arm heavy where it rested against her torso. The hand rotated, slipped under her hand, and squeezed her fingers. As excruciating as it was, Una was grateful for the contact.

Una snapped her eyes open in alarm as the macabre screams of Death Chargers and the clash of steel exploded in her ears like gunfire. Surrounding her was the faces of death. Elves. Or what once were elves. Bright lights from open lanterns blinded her and shouts rang her ears.

She gazed around her in alarm as the dead beings milled about their tiny clearing, descending upon them like locusts. Something dropped swiftly to the ground beside her and there was a rustle. The Light crashed into her like a tidal wave, forcing a gasp from her lips. The hallucination faded and the elves kneeling over her were alive and whole once more.

"Lady, can you hear me?" Asked a male Sin'dorei; the closest of the elves to her head. He was clad in the deep crimson and ruby armor of a Blood Knight, though his hands moved with the skillful efficiency she typically associated with priests. He was taking her vitals as someone else was palpitating her abdomen. "Can you hear me?" He repeated.

"Soren?" She gasped loudly, desperate for a familiar face.

"No, Lady! Don't try to talk; just whisper." The Blood Knight exclaimed, pressing a finger to her lips. "Sergeant Dawnwalker is in Orgrimmar at the moment. I'm Sergeant Emberblade."

Raising her voice just that loudly had left her completely winded. Spots flashed across her vision and the world seemed to spin. Una squeezed her eyes shut as tears threatened.

"Get me I.V. fluids!" He barked to a female dressed in the garb of a ranger. "Are you related to Magister Eilonel Whitebrook?"

"Yes…"

Sergeant Emberblade accepted the supplies from the ranger and began to ready the intravenous needle. The woman dropped several vials by his knee and jogged away. "You're severely dehydrated, my lady. I'm going to start you on intravenous fluids. Just a little poke…"

Una never felt him pierce the skin of her left hand, but she watched the Sergeant secure the tubing down to the back of her hand and then pass a bag of fluids to someone standing over her. They had made her class insert intravenous lines on each other during training and she had always intensely felt every movement in her vein. Una shook her head in dismay; it was either indicative of his skill or just how sick she truly was.

"I was afraid of that, he mentioned having a niece in the Argent Dawn and you have the face of a Whitebrook. I just came from dropping off your – I presume cousin – into your Uncle's care when the rescue team intercepted myself and my commanding officer. Walen fell ill in Outland and..." The blood knight said conversationally as he undid the bandages on her chest. Una frowned deeply as he continued talking, barely following his chatter. Walen was underage; how desperate was Silvermoon that they would send a minor into combat? "…And now you're being brought in. Not a good day for the Magister."

She gave a stuttered gasp as he carefully peeled the bandages away from the wound in her side. Someone made a noise of disgust.

"Their blades certainly did foul work." Sergeant Emberblade sounded as though he were looking at only a minor injury. Una shivered as pain burned around the spots where his fingers touched as he probed the wound in her side, as if his gloved fingertips were acid. "But all will be well once we get you back to Silvermoon." By the Light, he was so insipidly calm, he almost sounded like a fool. Simple wounds didn't burn like the hole in her side did; searing from exposure to the cool, damp air.

"I fear we can't dispel their plagues, Lady. However, _Houngan_ Faraji warned us about that." Sergeant Emberblade continued and then bit the cap of a syringe to remove it. He spat it off to the side, filled the syringe from one of the vials, and flicked it with his finger to remove the bubbles. "However, your Argent fellows provided us with some medicines that might do the trick. Another poke incoming…"

As before, Una felt nothing but his hands against her arm. Despite being a medic, she detested needles with a passion. It slowly occurred to her that she definitely should have felt something with her arms like they were.

"Sergeant Emberblade?" Someone said crisply. The Blood Knight glanced behind him at the speaker. "We're ready, Sergeant."

"Thank you." Emberblade gave a nod of satisfaction and turned back to her. "I'm going to sedate you now, Lady Whitebrook. I fear there's no smooth roads until we leave the Ghostlands."

Una readied herself for another injection. Perhaps if she focused, she could feel it this time. However, Sergeant Emberblade laid his hands upon her and cast a spell. As darkness closed in upon her, Una decided he definitely had once been a priest.

It was dark when Una awoke once more. She blearily stared up at a darkened chandelier and listened to the steady tick of a clock. Facinated, her eyes traced a darkened swag of decorate fabric, tracing it down the ceiling until it came to the opposite wall. In the distance was a muted, blue glow.

A low, bassy moan echoed through the room as Nantan groaned in his sleep. The Tauren was likely awakening, as she was.

The paladin felt horribly weak, but she was comfortably resting on a thick, plush mattress and nestled within a cocoon of soft blankets. Aside from the fever, she felt blessedly numb. Each breath came easily, clearly. Una knew on some level she had been in surgery and knew that should have alarmed her. Elves had always preferred magical healing to surgery as far as she knew. It was cleaner and held fewer chances for infection or complications. The humans, dwarves, and gnomes were gradually coming to prefer it themselves for much the same reason. To have been in surgery meant her wounds had to be very grave. It was an odd state, she thought, to be heavily drugged and horribly weak yet still be so aware of what was happening around her.

The brown haired woman was lulled back into a light sleep, soothed by the steady tick of the clock. Gradually came the comforting sounds of a soft, familiar snore. It would be Tallak or Garrack making the noise, both orcs had the tendency to snore. Una lolled her head to one side to tuck more of her face beneath the blankets.

Sometime later, she felt someone move around the bed and a light touch as they checked on her. She opened her eyes as a long haired, brunette elf in priest's robes lifted the blankets and placed a hand to the wound on her side. The woman gave her a soft smile in greeting and cast a spell. Una felt nothing, but knew she was likely magically checking it. The priestess' hands ranged up, repeating the spell on her shoulder.

"Belestra," Someone said faintly in Thalassian, "The Magister found one."

"Excellent." The woman, Belestra, turned to accept something from the unseen figure. Una felt the priestess take her right hand and the cool metal of a ring slid up her ring finger. The woman leaned back over her, "How are you feeling, Lady Whitebrook?"

Despite understanding them perfectly, she couldn't come up with the right words in Thalassian no matter how hard she thought about it. "Better." She whispered in Common.

"That is a good sign." The male voice said once more.

"I am Belestra and this is Aldrae." The priestess said in hushed tones. A male Sin'dorei with short, blond hair stepped into view as she gestured. She started to say something else when raised voices penetrated the heavy doors and echoed through the room.

Una startled at the sound and shivered as a chill raced through her, despite her warm cocoon of blankets. Belestra stood straight and glanced at the door.

"Oh, for pity's sake… they should _know_ better!" A deep, yet feminine voice exclaimed in exasperation. Una weakly looked in the direction of the voice. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn that sounded like Garrack's wife.

Aldrae stepped just out of her view to examine something over her head and off to the side.

The voices continued, becoming aggressively pitched. Una tried to focus on what was being said, but she couldn't make it out.

"She'll require more antibiotics." Aldrae whispered and after a moment added, "The fever concerns me."

"It concerns me as well." The brown haired priestess replied. "Should it climb higher…"

"Enough! I will not have them here!" An elven voice thundered, loud even through the heavy door. She heard moans and sounds of awakening.

"Damn them!" Aldrae hissed in fury as the priestess rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"I'll finish her examination. See if you can stop their bickering." Came the deep, feminine voice once again.

Una heard muttered thanks and the priests vanished from view. The shouts grew briefly louder as a door opened and closed once again.

"Hello, Dear." Meigmoga said softly, reaching out to caress the left side of her face. The paladin felt her heart leap into her throat as her instincts were confirmed. Una felt her eyes dampen in relief as the Orc woman began to check her wounds.

"So… glad… you're here." Una was overwhelmed by emotion. The shaman had stabilized Powell and helped Ludger, and mended the less injured men. _I've seen worse_, she had told her. Her's was a face she knew and trusted.

"Shh, I wouldn't leave all of you up here alone." Maggie pulled the blankets back from her legs and bent over her. She didn't notice before, but the shaman's magic brought with it the smell of cleansing rains and the bath-water storms of her childhood. "I'm thrilled to see you so alert."

Una didn't have the heart – or the strength – to tell her that she had been alert for quite a bit of this ordeal.

"I think everything will be just fine once we get you over those plagues, Honey. " Maggie whispered tenderly as she covered her up and leaned over to stroke her hair. Una felt a surge of affection towards the orc woman.

Her mother would like her... The thought came to an abrupt end. No, her parents would be furious for thinking like that… for being in Silvermoon in the first place. For feeling this way towards an _orc_. By the Light, what had she done?

"Poppa…" Una started to whisper, but her voice failed her.

"Your Uncle Nelaniu hasn't returned from fetching him yet." Maggie's voice was pitched in a reassuring manner. No doubt the shaman was assuming she was asking for him. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."

Una licked her lips and tried again, "Poppa… is going to… kill me."

"That's the anesthesia talking, dear." Maggie replied maternally, tucking the blankets around her. "He'll be thankful you survived and fought with such honor."

The doors opened and Una heard a number of people enter. Maggie left her side and she heard whispers in Orcish. She heard the shaman's voice rise several times in anger. Surprisingly, it was her Uncle Eilonel's level voice that carried the loudest.

Moments later, Maggie was back at her bedside; her eyes glowing a brilliant, frightening crimson. The air around her smelled like an encroaching thunderstorm as she began to disconnect her from the intravenous drip.

"What's… going on?" Una whispered plaintively. She hated not being able to understand Orcish, hated not being in control of her fate.

"You're being placed under quarantine." The shaman's voice was harsh with barely restrained fury.

Uncle Eilonel appeared at her bedside. His face, so much like her father's, was haggard. There were fine lines in the corners of his emerald eyes and around his mouth that she didn't remember being there before. Despite his obvious fatigue, the brown haired mage appeared calm and resolute.

Eilonel leaned over to kiss her forehead. "I'm teleporting you directly to my estate. It will all be fine." He kissed her forehead again, his lips lingering against her brow.

* * *

"I ain't sober enough fer things like this, lad." Hiram Stonemace said grimly, puffing away at his pipe, seemingly oblivious to the droplets of rain water threatening to extinguish it.

Anaru was in agreement, huddled in his oiled woolen cloak against the onslaught of the autumn storm. The storm howled and shieked, pelted them with frigid sheets of rain. Hakander and his Uncle Nelaniu stood before Una's parents home, speaking with his Aunt and Uncle regarding Una's injuries. While he was out of an earshot, the conversation seemed to be going well so far.

As paranoid as Uncle Ferran could be, Anaru was afraid he wouldn't believe him. With Una in critical condition, they didn't have the luxury of time to convince him otherwise.

It was probably helpful that Uncle Nelaniu had come rather than his father. Ferran had always respected – if not been slightly fearful of – his late, elder sister Osari's husband. Frankly, Anaru could testify that dueling the battle-mage was a less than enjoyable experience. Nelaniu could wield a sword as well as he could wield destructive magic.

Hakander seemed to be going over the extent of Una's injuries. His aunt's hands were clasped to her mouth, Ferran was looking away. Tyalaria's legs suddenly went out from under her and the blonde High Elf dropped to the floor. She sat there sobbing, Ferran kneeling by her side. Anaru felt his heart breaking. The paladin wanted nothing more than to go to them and try to help his Aunt and Uncle through this. However, he knew better. If he went to them now, the blame would be placed solely on his shoulders, a very one-sided fight would erupt, and they'd lose precious time.

As much as he hated it, he had to leave this to Hakander and Nelaniu.

Anaru looked down and struggled to gain control of his emotions. He wasn't holding up well either.

The paladin been overjoyed when Uncle Nelaniu had appeared in Stormwind. A classic High elf both in appearance and attitude, Nelaniu had a strong isolationist streak. Osari and he had been adventurers during the early part of their marriage, living on the road and in the wilds. Ever since Osari's death, Nelaniu and his daughter, Valeene, had been estranged from the family. He knew they had come to reside in Dalaran, but hadn't spoken with either in years. The thrill of an unexpected reunion had turned to horror when the mage had revealed the reason for his appearance.

Una and Walen were both in grave condition. Una from wounds sustained fighting Scourge and the subsequent infection; Walen possessed by a demonic entity that was slowly killing him. Their conditions were grave and the look upon the seasoned battle-mage's face had told him what words could not. The commander feared nothing more than Una and Walen dying before they could reach Silvermoon.

Hakander, both his second-in-command and possibly best friend, had been at his side this entire, nightmarish evening. Anaru wasn't sure where he'd be without the bald Draenei's help.

"Oh no. No. No!" Hiram moaned, his pipe dropping to the muddy puddles beneath their mounts. Anaru looked up to see his Aunt and Uncle's door closing.

"Ferran! You sick son of a bitch! This is your _daughter_!" Nelaniu bellowed loud enough to shake the sleeping forest. "This isn't about that fucking grudge of yours! Ferran!" From here, he could hear his Uncle's fist pounding against the door of the cottage.

Anaru moaned as his worst fears were realized. They had probably lost him the moment they told him Una was in Silvermoon. Any other city in the world and he probably would have been okay. The brown haired knight realized on some level he should be disgusted and furious. Instead, he just felt tired.

"Steady, lad." Hiram's voice was intended to soothe, but it did little to help.

He watched as the two men trudged their way through the howling storm back to them. As they came into the light cast by his lantern, he could see Hakander was visibly crestfallen and his Uncle livid enough that sparks flickered across his clenched fists.

"Ferget the idiot, lads." Hiram growled as he dismounted to retrieve his pipe, "He ain't worth shit an' we got more important matters."

Hakander nodded, drawing himself up. "I could call in some of my people's best healers. We have dealt with the Legion's handywork for eons, plus I…"

"I gotta a few options too, but again… we're talkin' _time_ here." Hiram said impatiently, shaking the muddy water from his pipe. "Even with Nelaniu, yer gunna have to go to the Exodar to retrieve them."

"I might have something _closer_." Hakander persisted. "The men did some asking around in the Taverns. There are rumors about an unnaturally gifted healer…"

"An' we all know how reliable a source ale an' gossip makes." Hiram growled sarcastically. "We need concrete leads, lad. They ain't gunna hold out while we go on a wild good chase."

"I have an address…" Hakander growled, offering a scrap of paper to Anaru. "This healer saved a babe from demonic possession. Healed a woman who had been maimed by the Cult of the Damned…"

"Where?" Anaru exclaimed, feeling hopeful for the first time this evening. A healer with both experience with demonic possession and Scourge would be absolutely ideal. The street was unfamiliar to him, he hoped it was in one of Stormwind's provinces.

"Goldshire."

"Oi, lemme see it then." The dwarf said, reaching out for the slip of paper. "Betcha I kin tell ya who yer visitin'." Anaru surrendered it to the elder paladin. Hiram held it under the light cast from the lantern, squinting at it.

"Aye, that would be the Morris' place. I'd go wiv ye, but poor lad ain't got a moments rest lately. Came back from Outland not that long ago… held captive by the Legion, I hear. I reckon I wouldnae hear the end of it iffn he thought I'd sent ya." Hiram handed the scrap of paper back. "I'm well known fer doin' that too."

"I'm going." Anaru declared fervently, feeling a new-found strength flood him. "I _need_ to pursue this. Hakander: Thank you."

The Vindicator nodded and gave him a brief bow, "You are quite welcome, Command… Anaru. I shall maintain order in your absence."

Hiram stepped forward and caught him in a furious embrace. Anaru had never been especially close with Una's mentor, but he appreciated it all the same. "I'll keep lookin. Ye tell the lass she be loved; the missus an' me will be prayin' for her." The dwarf said roughly when he broke the embrace, not even attempting to disguise the emotion in his voice. "Keep in touch."

"So what was his rational?" Anaru asked wearily after the two, elder paladins were out of an earshot. He desperately wanted to know what was more important to Ferran than his own flesh and blood.

"Not now, Anaru." Nelaniu said, rubbing a hand over his azure eyes.

"If not now, when?" The brown haired paladin bit out. He was sick of this stupidity, sick to his very core.

"Now is not the time, Anaru." The battle-mage spoke in a tone as weary as he felt, gesturing with a half-curled hand to emphasize each of his words. "Una and Walen won't live long if we don't find this healer the Vindicator spoke of."

They rode through the storm-lashed forest as the chilly, autumn storm raged around them. In the distance, they could see the outlines of the small necropolises that hovered outside the gates of Stormwind silhouetted in the angry sky. It seemed more appeared to replace any they managed to destroy. Nothing had emerged from these new structures yet, but they were an ominous sign.

At last, they found themselves in the slumbering town of Goldshire. They picked their way down the muddy, country roads until they found themselves before a small cottage.

Anaru braced himself and pounded on the door as the storm howled with renewed vigor.

Captain Morris was an aging human, his face testifying to the hardships he must have endured during his captivity in Outland. He seemed surprised to see visitors so late, but kindly shouted at them to stable their horses in his barn. Anaru assisted his Uncle and together they strode back to the house.

Anaru entered and removed his hood. He cursed himself as the human's eyes grew wide and his hand moved quickly to the sword at his side. He hurriedly removed his cloak and dropped it, holding his hands up in surrender. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his Uncle do the same.

"Captain Dylan Morris, please forgive our intrusion… I am Commander Anaru Whitebrook of the Argent Dawn." Anaru said, tapping the fingers of his right hand to his forehead in respect. He gestured to Nelaniu, "This is my uncle, Nelaniu, Battle-mage of the Kirin Tor."

"I once knew a Whitebrook." The human said guardedly, releasing the grip of his blade, "A very honorable Quel'dorei and a fellow paladin if I remember correctly. We fought together in the Battle of Connor's Main."

"My grandfather, Sir. I was his squire." Anaru said, nodding his appreciation as the paladin beckoned them closer to the fire. "Please forgive me, but time isn't a luxury we have this eve. I'm on a dire mission and you…"

"I'm retired, boy." The paladin sighed, "I've paid my dues a thousandfold. Find yourself another soldier." He turned to stoke the fire and add another log.

Anaru sighed and closed his eyes, willing his anger down. Relatively speaking, Captain Morris was an elder. "I'm only seeking information you might have."

Commander Morris sat down and motioned for them to do the same, "Well, I assume it must be important to bring you out in this beast of a storm. What can I do for you, Commander?"

"The men speak of rumors going around the taverns…"

"Always a reasonable source of information…" Dylan replied sarcastically, leaning back in his chair.

"I would normally agree with you, Sir." Anaru said in agreement, holding his chilled hands up to the fire. "But I am grasping at straws. This is the best lead we've found… The men speak of a healer, a mystic. That you've sent people to this healer: a babe cursed by a demon, a woman attacked by the Cult…"

"Son, you shouldn't believe everything you hear," The human said coldly. Anaru sucked in an anguished breath, lunged from the chair, and dropped to his knees before him.

"Please, sir…" He pleaded, feeling tears start to flow, "It's my brother and cousin… she's like a sister to me. Please… I beg you." The floodgates were open and there was no stopping him. "My brother is possessed! The demon is draining his life while threatening my family… My cousin was maimed by the Scourge and afflicted by plague…The healers can't save them, they're telling my father to prepare two funerals!"

"Everything dies, boy." Captain Morris said firmly, stressing the word "boy" once again.

"I am aware… I only lost three-quarters of my family on the same night, including my mother and grandfather. My grandfather likely moments after he tossed me through a portal to save my life." Anaru snapped waspishly. He shuddered in disbelief: How dare this _human_ suggest he didn't understand death! "I failed him! I'm not failing them!" He bellowed, his entire body trembling with emotion.

He felt his Uncle's hand on his shoulder. "Enough, Nephew. Please, Captain, just give us the information we seek and we will be on our way."

Silence reigned, broken only by the crackle of flames. Anaru allowed his Uncle to draw him back into the chair he had been sitting in.

"I'm sorry, I truly am. But he lives in a distant land and it sounds as though they don't have much time left." The captain said at length, his voice finally losing the cold tone it had carried previously. "…I doubt two Blood Elves would be welcome in Darnassus."

"_High_ Elves." Nelaniu corrected, his voice clipped in both irritation and exhaustion. The blond mage's eyes flicked to him and then back, as if expecting him to contribute. "Additionally, I might remind you: my nephew is Argent Dawn; I am Kirin Tor. Darnassus will be no trouble."

Anaru bowed his head and allowed the battle-mage to do the talking. His emotions were dangerously close to the surface and too raw. He couldn't think; and, if he couldn't think, he'd lose his head if Captain Morris resisted him once again. All he could see was Una's final, nervous smile before she and Hiram vanished into the crowds of Stormwind City. The memory of Una's sun-touched, freckled face was etched into his mind. A face that was likely gone forever. Even if she survived, she would be likely disfigured beyond recognition.

"A name? Please sir, just a name… who are we seeking?" His Uncle implored, leaning forward.

"That would be me." A mild voice said in answer.

Anaru looked up, not quite comprehending what he was hearing. A pale, black haired elf was descending the stairs, his footfalls silent upon the worn treads. He was shirtless and barefoot, clad only in loose, white pants. However, the paladin's blood ran as cold as glacial ice as his eyes fell upon a white blindfold tied about the elf's head. By the Light, Hakander had said _healer_… this lithe Sin'dorei coming down the stairs, moving with an almost boneless grace, appeared for all the world like a demon hunter.

"Rain, no." A shadow detached itself from the wall as the deep words were growled. Out of the corner of his eye was something massive and black. A panther. Anaru yelped in alarm and lunged out of his chair, backing into his Uncle's chair. Nelaniu came to his feet as well, settling into a relaxed defensive stance.

"And what if it were me? Crystal?" The pale elf replied softly. "…Our daughter?"

Anaru felt his Uncle's hand come to rest on his own, staying his hand. The paladin slowly moved his sweating fingers away from his sword.

"Damnit, Rain… we are not discussing this." The panther melted into the form of a heavily built Kaldorei with long, violet hair and a scraggly beard.

"I'm needed." The blind healer replied quietly, yet firmly. He crossed his arms over the lean, but muscular chest.

Anaru strained his senses, seeking the demonic aura he knew demon hunters should posses. All paladins were trained to sense the presense of demons and undead. While the elf did indeed have an aura, it felt nothing even remotely close to a demonic aura. Nelaniu's face was calm, but his jaw was just perceptibly tense. It was clear the battle-mage sensed something as well. He strained, delving deeper into the stranger's aura. The aura vanished completely. The "healer" glanced at him and issued a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"Crystal needs us!" The Night Elf snarled.

"They aren't asking for you…"

"Like hell I'd let you go alone!" The violet haired druid shouted, "This is foolish, we return to Darnassus tomorrow to await our child's birth!"

Anaru caught a glimpse of a small, white, long haired dog dart down the stairs in advance of another figure. He turned his head to watch it as it ran to Rain and realized it was a fox; a perfectly white fox. He looked back up to see a pregnant Night Elf descending the stairs, her silver hair braided loosely and hanging down her back.

"I agree with our Heart, my love." The woman replied, rubbing her belly through her nightdress as she stared at the druid pointedly.

"We have a moon until the baby is due… and clearly we will be in the company of mages. They could open a portal to Darnassus at a moment's notice if needed." Despite appearing blind, Rain glanced to Nelaniu as if seeking confirmation. His Uncle nodded mutely in agreement.

"We will talk. Now. Alone." The druid bit out.

As the elves filed back upstairs, Anaru looked helplessly at his Uncle for guidance as though he were a child once again. A demon hunter and an ill-tempered druid weren't what he was expecting. Beads of nervous sweat had broken out upon the mage's face. The captain shifted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

There was no sound emanating down the stairs, nothing to indicate what they were discussing or whether it was in their favor.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Captain Morris said lamely, all too intent on the carpet beneath his feet.

"No, thank you." Nelaniu replied hoarsely. The blond Quel'dorei paused to clear his throat, "And none for my Nephew. He never has been able to hold his liquor."

The fox once more darted down the stairs. Anaru looked up hopefully as the elves reappeared.

"We will help." The druid's deep voice once again filled the space. He paused to run his hand over his face and through his beard as though he couldn't quite believe he was agreeing to assisting them, "But I have some demands that must be met."

"Name it and if it lies within my power; I swear it shall be done." Nelaniu replied without hesitation.

"Protection." Falcon growled, stressing the word. "I want guards at all times."

"Emmie should already be there…" Anaru told Nelaniu softly. If there was anything he could be sure of, it was Esmea's nature. She held no animosity for any living being, save for those who threatened others. His Uncle had said she immediately agreed to enforce the quarantine, knowing her, she had moved heaven and earth to find like-minded individuals and have them posted without delay.

"Very likely Guards have already been posted. Next?" The blond battle-mage crossed his arms over his chest with a nod.

"I require they be moved from Silvermoon. We will not treat them if they reside within the city." There was steel in the druid's tone that told Anaru this demand was especially important to him.

Nelaniu waved dismissively, "Again, done. They were removed from the city and placed into quarantine at my brother-in-law's estate some distance away from the city."

"And finally," Falcon said, "Privacy. No one is to know we are there or were ever there." The last comment seemed directed at Captain Morris in particular.

"It was a _baby_, Falcon. What would you have me do?" The human spoke up defensively. "As for the others…" He let his words trail off and issued the druid an expressive shrug.

"None of ours shall breathe a word of your presense." Nelaniu said firmly. His blue eyes landed on Rain, "I just hope you're as good as they say you are. We need a miracle…"

Rain paused midstep on the stairs and tilted his head towards the blond mage, "If we are not already too late, I will do my best"

* * *

Una knew it was nearly the end.

Over the hours since she had awoken from surgery, the infections had worsened. Her lymph nodes had swollen to the edge of rupture, the skin over them stretched to the breaking point, weeping blood and fluids. The fever raged relentlessly as if she were burning to death from the inside out. Meigmoga and the other healers, including the Blood Knights' best, were barely keeping her alive.

A deep weariness penetrated all the way through her very being. She was dying. They had made certain she was in no pain, but there was nothing more they could do for her.

"...And may the Light bless you and keep you. Amen." Sergeant Emberblade finished the prayer in a gentle, soft voice as he drew the Symbol of the Holy Light on her forehead in holy water. The room was darkened, lit only by a few sparse candles. The paladin was dressed in traditional robes of a priest of the Church of the Holy Light. He had given her the Church's traditional _Last Rites_ and had moved on to _Anointing of the Sick_. She knew the Sin'dorei probably didn't actually believe the prayers he was giving her, but she appreciated this final, small thing.

The paladin knew on some level, she should be upset that it was ending this way. Instead, she was almost ready to be beyond this pain. Almost. She wanted to see her parents again. However, instead Uncle Nelaniu had returned without them. She knew Anaru was here, but where he was, she didn't know.

As the paladin concluded the ritual, her Uncle Eilonel, reclined on the bed beside her, tightened his grip around her slightly in an embrace.

"Are you going to be okay, Magister?" The paladin asked, brushing a hand through his red-blond hair.

"She spent her first night in this world sleeping on my chest. It's only appropriate that she… she…" Her uncle's voice broke. Una thought it odd. Wouldn't she have been with her parents? She let it go, it was silly to notice such things now.

"I understand. If you need me, I'll be outside." Emberblade said softly. He inclined his head towards her, "I shall see you in the morning, Una."

A low, loud, guttural moan that escalated into a feral scream could be heard as the door opened and shut. She couldn't be sure if she was hallucinating once more. Uncle Eilonel shuddered and she concluded it had to be real.

"Shh…" Uncle Eilonel whispered, tightening his grip once more. She must have stirred or given her Uncle some indications she had been aware of the noise. "Save your strength… try to get some sleep."

He started to sing a Quel'dorei lullaby; singing the parts he remembered and intermittently humming his way through the parts he didn't. Both Eilonel and her father shared the same tone of voice and it was wonderfully comforting. He periodically paused to kiss her brow, even as the screams that carried through the door reached a horrible climax.

Una blinked and it was dawn. Golden light filtered through the high windows and the white, sheer curtains seemed to almost glow. The room was filled with glorious, brilliant sunlight. She had survived the night. It surprised her greater than anything she had experienced so far.

As she continued to awaken, the tattered memories of her dreams from that began to float to the surface of her mind. Horrendous, fevered nightmares of demons and her grandfather's rotted, Scourged remains coming for her.

From the warmth at her right side and the arms wrapped around her, her Uncle was still sleeping at her side. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to loll into his chest as tears began to flow. Her forehead met bare flesh. Uncle Eilonel had always been a slight, thin man and thus rarely removed his shirt, even around family. Meanwhile, her father often went without a shirt. Had her father made it afterall?

She struggled to weakly open her eyes. The flesh before her was far too pale to be a Whitebrook. Her family's complexion was always slightly ruddier than typical High Elves, a gift that had gotten her in trouble after the Sin'dorei's defection to the Horde.

Maggie had said her Uncle Nelaniu had come all the way from Dalaran. Perhaps Uncle Nelaniu had spelled her Uncle Eilonel sometime during the night. She remembered him as being very fair compared to her family. However, the man sleeping beside her stirred and a lock of hair as black as ebony brushed the bridge of her nose. Uncle Nelaniu was just to the golden side of platinum blond.

She weakly lifted her head. Confusion settled upon her once again as her eyes fell upon an unfamiliar face; the man's eyes covered by a white blindfold. Something rough was pricking the left side of her neck even as warm breath caressed her skin, raising gooseflesh. A rush of adrenaline brought unexpected strength with it.

Una turned her head and gazed into the face of a brute of a Kaldorei, his face relaxed in sleep. It had been his coarse, violet beard she had felt against her neck. His chest too was bare. A breath of air brought with it a faint chill. The bedding she was wrapped in was soaking wet.

She struggled to lift her head further. Their chests weren't the only things bare. Her eyes traced down two very male, very nude forms.

By the Light, she was laying with naked men! Her heart pounded in her chest. What in the hell was going on? Had she died? Was she dreaming? Una shut her eyes and counted down. When she opened her eyes, they were still very much nude.

"Relax." The Night Elf said softly, "You're safe."

"Easy for you to say." The sentence came easily and without need to breathe partway through, though she still couldn't put much more than a whisper behind it.

The violet haired elf chuckled and placed a callused hand upon her forehead. Her face and hair were soaked as well. His hand moved and pressed the back of it against one cheek and then the other. Una startled as his knuckles brushed her right cheek. There should be a tear through it! However, there was only a faint sting as his knuckles dragged across her skin.

His callused fingertips touched the right corner of her mouth and traced the stinging line back to her ear. "Good, it closed…" The comment was more to himself than to her.

"What?" Una breathed. She had been mutilated, there had been a _hole_ through her face, but the pain from his touch was akin to a minor scratch from a house cat. "Nothing is making any sense… Who are you?"

"Call me Falcon…" The Kaldorei replied. "And the confusion will pass." Falcon groaned and rolled so he was leaning over her, affording her an unobstructed view all the way down. "Your fever finally broke." She shut her eyes in embarrassment as he pulled the bedding back from her body. Aside from the casts and bandages, she was completely nude as well. His hands roamed her body, examining her injuries with rough, practiced fingers. His touch once again hurt, but nothing like she had experienced earlier.

Brushes of healing magic here and there, under her jaw, on the sides of her neck, armpits, and beside her breasts. Una realized he was healing the angry, split flesh over her lymph nodes. She shuddered as his hands parted her legs to heal the flesh above the lymph nodes in her groin. The naturally sensitive skin was even more sensitive; his rough hands were unwelcome and painful.

"Are you feeling well, Lady?" Falcon paused and looked at her in concern.

"Fall sleep nearly dead, wake up in a harem…" Una muttered, unable to resist taking another embarrassed yet appreciative look at his physique.

The Night Elf laughed with a rich, deep tone. "You must be feeling better then."

Una blushed and cast a glance at the still sleeping elf to her right. She wasn't sure she would know what to do if the other woke.

Falcon noted the direction of her gaze, "Let him sleep, he is exhausted. After you and the boy, he was completely drained. He wanted to heal your companions as well, but I wouldn't allow it… the orc maiden was doing fine. And orcs like their scars – don't ask me how I know that, please."

* * *

**Chapter Notes:**

This was the first of a two chapter crossover with KooriRoninHeart's _Hell Cavern_ story. If you haven't read it already, I'd highly suggest it. It's a great read!

_Houngan – _ Voodoo priest. Since Warcraft borrows so heavily from real voodoo, I decided to give Faraji the proper honorific.


	12. Chapter 12: Mending

**Chapter 12 – Mending**

* * *

"By the Sunwell, the two of you produced a miracle." Sergeant Emberblade exclaimed in an awestruck, almost revenant voice as he cautiously pressed the wound in her side. His short, straight, reddish-blonde hair was tousled as though Falcon had dragged him from bed and brought him directly here. "From necrotic to mostly healed overnight. If I hadn't witnessed it – I wouldn't have believed it."

Una shuddered as the blonde healer continued to meticulously examine the area, sending magic deep into the wound tract to gauge the progress of healing. Each touch sent a ripple of pain through her, but it was pale in comparison to what she had experienced over the past several days. His gloved fingers didn't burn like they had been dipped in acid as he touched her flesh.

The young woman still wasn't sure what had happened beyond the simple fact that Rain and Falcon had healed her. She knew a few details, but much of it still eluded her. Just last night, she had been dying and the healers had moved to simply making her as comfortable as possible. Now, she was not only alive but apparently recovering well.

"The credit belongs to Rain." Falcon responded coolly from the opposite edge of the bed, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. He inclined his head towards the slumbering elf, "The suffering he has experienced over the years allows him a greater empathy for others… far beyond the norm."

"Years?" Emberblade repeated questioningly. He stared at the pale Sin'dorei beside her and Una could easily guess his thoughts. Rain looked to be the same age as Walen, though perhaps slightly older. Granted, their Kaldorei cousins measured time even more differently than their people; _everything_ was young compared to them. However, now that the subject was being discussed she could see Rain looked young even to her_._ Dismay was evident in the Sergeant's tone as he continued, "But… he's a… he isn't even that old…"

"And I am his protector." The violet haired druid growled, his gravelly voice even deeper in warning.

"My apologies, I meant no disrespect." The sergeant said hurriedly, holding his hands up in a gesture both placating and somewhat alarmed. "I fear I've been encountering too many young ones as of late with similar sad tales."

Falcon grunted, but otherwise said nothing. Una winced as Emberblade busied himself with removing a series of sutures in her side, but restrained herself from commenting. The tension was so thick, she was sure she could have cut it with a knife. If the druid didn't trust Sergeant Emberblade, why would he have fetched him instead of another healer?

Una gave up attempting to understand. At this point, all she truly wanted to do was sleep and it was starting to make her irritable. She turned her head to look past Rain and Falcon to gaze longingly at the window. The first thing Falcon had done before fetching Sergeant Emberblade was open the window a crack to begin cooling the room. The lightly stirring curtains were now buttery yellow with the morning sunlight. Beyond she could see the trees, golden in their eternal autumn hues.

Through the window came the sound of wind chimes ringing out a random pattern of notes that yet somehow sounded like a pleasant melody. It brought back childhood memories. Somewhere, perhaps right beneath her window, would be her Uncle's garden – though she couldn't tell which side of the house she was on. His garden was a physical manifestation of his eccentric, somewhat whimsical personality. The winding paths through the garden had enchanted her as a child and she yearned to lose herself there once again. Forget, even for a few minutes, what had brought her to this point.

"Now that you're up, I think I'll take my heart and sleep for a few more hours." Falcon stated abruptly as he rose to his feet and stretched. Una was once again treated to a full view of the Night Elf and she felt her cheeks flush. Her disobedient eyes traced down his muscular abdomen, admiring the way his muscles moved beneath his flesh, to the violet curls, and the rest of the way down.

"Of course. Sleep well and thank you." The sergeant said with a bow of his head. As embarrassed as she was, it was virtually impossible not to watch as Falcon lifted the pale elf, still not bothering to don a shred of clothing.

Sergeant Emberblade followed her gaze as she watched the violet haired Night Elf carry the sleeping healer from the room.

Una blushed as she met the other paladin's eyes. A wicked grin stretched across the blonde's features and she knew she was in trouble, "I do so hate to make you the _butt_ of my joke, but I hope you enjoyed their _ass_ets."

Una issued him a mock glare, "I hate you." The phrase, which she intended to be in jest, came out a whine as the pressure from his gloved hands pulled at her wound. The skin felt rough and somewhat raw, a lingering rash perhaps?

Sergeant Emberblade laughed and cast a healing spell on the spot, "I am only teasing. To be completely fair, the room is absolutely stifling and they were here for most of the night…"

"By the Ancestors, that view will sustain me for months!" A feminine voice cackled. The voice had the same kind of deep, yet very feminine tone Meigmoga had. "I swear, the Night Elves must chisel those asses from marble!"

Emberblade gasped, his face stormy, "Lady Basya! I am utterly insulted!" His face suddenly assumed a smirk, "Surrounded by fine Blood Elven specimens and you notice a _Night Elf_?"

"Good morning, Una, Rune." Basya, Garrack's eldest daughter, laughed again as she reached Una's bedside. When Falcon had said _orc maiden_, she had assumed Meigmoga. It made her wonder just how many people had come to their aid. "Well, now that you mention it, I do need a basis for comparison." The orc woman casually flicked a finger towards Emberblade's simple black slacks. "Drop 'em."

In spite of her weariness, Una giggled at the blonde's comically startled expression. It was as though she were seeing him for the first time; she couldn't be sure if Emberblade was serious or just playing along.

Rune smirked and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. "I think Una's had more than enough excitement of that kind for today." He said perhaps a bit too smoothly.

The brown haired orc gave him a smile that looked split between knowing and amused. She brushed her hands off on her intricately beaded gown of burgundy homespun and donned a pair of gloves.

"Rune, her hand is looking a little puffy…" Basya said as she gingerly lifted Una's left hand. The young woman could see her hand was swollen, especially around the site of the needle protruding from the back of her hand. From her training, Una knew the intravenous fluids had leaked into the tissues of her hand rather than into her vein.

"It's infiltrated." She whispered as Sergeant Emberblade briefly examined her hand for himself.

"That it is." Rune announced in confirmation, his voice sounding annoyed and somewhat weary. He looked to Basya, "I'll remove it; can you perhaps coax the fluids into absorbing? She's to remain on intravenous medications for the interim."

"I'll give it a try." Basya replied, moving a stool closer to the bedside. "I'm no healer; we might need to get Mama."

"My lady, that demonstration last night indicates otherwise." The sergeant stated as the shaman settled by her bedside. "I was quite impressed with your work on your father."

"Is Garrack and the others okay?" Una asked, genuinely curious. Falcon had mentioned them, but had given her no details. After she had fallen asleep after Faraji tended to her, she hadn't seen any of them.

"Papa's back was broken..." Basya stated matter-of-factly. Una gasped in horror, her mind reeling. To her knowledge, the Horde reviled any sign of weakness within their own. What would happen to him? The shaman exclaimed hurriedly, "He's fine! He's fine!"

"In fact, I must say that he looked quite contented holding your son." Rune commented, cautiously pulling the intravenous needle from the back of her hand. He pressed a bit of gauze to the spot to stop the flow of blood long enough to cast a healing spell.

"He loves being a grandfather. Bringing Tarod up here with me was the best thing I could have done for him." The shaman agreed, the smell of rain and surf rising as she employed her healing magic. "Papa tends to get… discouraged… when he's badly injured." Basya's voice trailed off as she concentrated.

Rune watched her a moment and then began to check Una's other wounds. "I shall wait until she's done before I start a new line… Your companions are expected to recover. I imagine they will be quite relieved when they hear of your survival."

Una sighed in relief and felt as though she was sinking deeper into the mattress as Basya's magic began to work. She yawned. Perhaps they'd let her sleep after this. "What about Walen?"

"Last night was quite harrowing for him as well, but he's expected to recover now that – well, now that he's been cured." Emberblade wasn't telling her the entire truth, not that she could blame him. Una would probably be loath to give a patient in the same situation any alarming details.

The smell of Basya's healing spells and the quiet peace of the room was a powerful combination; Una gingerly yawned, slight pain flaring in her jaw at the movement. She shut her eyes with a contented sigh and drifted to sleep.

* * *

Falcon paced the small room while Rain slept on the soft bed. He knew, he too should join his mate but so much had happened since last night, sleep eluded him. A ragged cough came from the bed and Falcon quickly moved to lull Rain back to sleep, the elf had given too much yesterday. As he calmed the slumbering Sin'dorei he felt a pull on his magic, Rain was subconsciously trying to recharge from the strenuous healing from last night. The druid willingly let him take what he had.

"Stop that!"

Falcon startled at the voice and felt his knees buckle. A strong arm caught him before he hit the ground, but let him continue his descent until he rested on the plush carpet. He glanced up into the angry eyes of an orc.

"You've given enough!" The orc maiden said, "You are just as exhausted as the child." Meigmoga glared down at him with a disapproving look.

"He needs it more than I do, Lady Meigmoga …"

"Just Maggie is fine," she said as she reached down, grabbing him under the arms and lifted him up to sit on the bed. Though he towered over her if he had the strength to stand, she moved him with ease. The shaman's healing magic entered him, refreshing as she did a motherly check, with the clucking included. After last night Falcon respected the orc healer and let her check him over as he reached to hold Rain's cool hand. To his dismay fingers curled around his.

"You should be sleeping," he said.

"Seems to be the theme of the day," Rain replied with a smirk. "Where are we? How is she?"

"Her fever has broken; I left her with the paladin we met last night…"

"Which one?" Rain asked with a yawn, "I swear we met half of the Blood Knights of Silvermoon, so much for secrecy."

"They just wanted to help one of their own," Maggie said as she reached over and placed her hand on top of theirs. "Go ahead, I have plenty." A swirl of cobalt magic seemed to leave the shaman's hand and coil around Rain's arm, his Heart let out a content sigh.

"Rune," Falcon replied, answering Rain's question.

"The blue one," Rain said as color returned to his pale cheeks.

"Blue?" Maggie asked, standing up.

"His aura," Rain replied, "It's blue… it's hard to explain."

"What does my aura look like?" Maggie asked, genuine curious.

"Yellow," Rain answered, "Warm… safe."

Maggie seemed pleased with that answer. "Thank you for including me last night; it was a wondrous sight to behold. I have never been in the presence of such … power … energy." The orc was having trouble finding a word to explain what she had seen.

"Thank you," Rain said, "For adding your strength to the circle. I couldn't have healed them both without you; the demon has his claws firmly in the heart of the boy. I hadn't had to fight for release that hard in a long time." Falcon saw the telltale signs and quickly grabbed a nearby bucket for Rain to heave into.

"Damn it," the druid growled as black sludge left the lips of his mate. "I knew there was more! You did too much… you always do too much." Resting his forehead against Rain, Falcon tapped into his own magic and forced it into the healer, helping with the purge, seeking out any lingering darkness. Their consciousness touched the secret place within and they both tested it to find it still securely locked. Relieved Falcon separated himself from Rain and found that hours had passed. Rain and he were still in the bedroom, but the sun was higher in the sky.

"All well?" A cool voice asked and Falcon glanced over at the paladin standing in the doorway.

"Red," Rain whispered and druid frowned.

"We are fine, Commander Whitebrook, the expulsion of demons is a messy business," Falcon glanced around for the bucket from earlier. "Did you burn it?"

"Yes," Anaru said entering the room. "Gave the shaman quite the scare, she thought the child might have become possessed himself." The paladin bent down reaching for Rain's face.

Falcon growled and the hand moved to the pale shoulder. He could tell the paladin was doing his own check on Rain, and allowed it. "Nothing," Anaru said after a moment, pulling his hand back. "I would have liked to been included in last night's healing circles … they are _my_ family …"

"You were too close to the situation," Rain replied, Falcon was glad to hear strength return to the healer's voice. "I needed calm and focus and you were neither. How is your brother?"

"Alert," Anaru said, "But quiet, even more so than normal."

"Don't push him," Rain said, "He needs time now."

"As do you," Falcon said, "And food." The druid glanced up at the paladin still standing close to the bed. It took a moment but the message came clear to Anaru who gave a curt nod and walked out the room mumbling under his breath about being a Commander and not a servant.

"Be wary around him," his blind mate whispered, as pale arms wrapped around Falcon from behind, "I don't like the way he looks at me."

"He's curious," Falcon said with a shrug as he patted the arm around his neck. "If you would like, I'll have the magister make a portal for home immediately." The druid knew he failed to hide his eagerness.

Rain sighed and kissed his neck. "Not yet my heart," he said, "Please, I need to make sure."

"As you wish," Falcon replied.

* * *

The world faded into a haze as Una slept her way through the days and nights. Her strength was slowly returning bit by bit, though progress was frustratingly slow.

Faraji and Emmie came to visit her frequently. If Sergeant Emberblade was present, he dutifully translated whatever the priest had to say. Emmie always came the moment she was off duty from guarding the house, still dressed head to toe in the armor of a Blood Knight.

Faraji relayed that Nantan, Tallak, and he had been severely ill, rather than significantly wounded which eased Una's mind immensely. Now cured, they were already well on their way to recovery. Garrack's back was mending well, though the troll wished he'd retire. Faraji's son, Otieno, was already feeling well enough that he was becoming a pest even though his arm would remain in a sling for most of the winter.

Emmie hesitantly brought news of the Scourge Invasion and Una knew the red head was leaving out quite a few details for her benefit. She made it sound like a minor incident, though there was hesitation in her words and evasiveness in her body language that told Una volumes. The Blood Knights had lost good men and women to the Scourge, but they would survive and avenge their fallen as was their way.

It went on like this until one lazy morning and after her morning visits from Garrack and her companions, she attempted to determine what day it was. It had been midway through October when she arrived at Light's Hope Chapel and she'd spent three days there preparing for her trials. She lost several days while she was in and out of consciousness until the Farstrider scouting party had found their camp site. After that, she had been sedated. She startled. It had been two weeks since Rain and Falcon had arrived.

She was still trying to reckon what day it was when she heard the delighted cry of a baby and the throaty chuckle of an orc. The door swung open, "Throm ka! You get a visit from the morale officer!" Dagan announced without preamble, giving her a wide smile that stretched from ear to ear, striding confidently across the carpet to her bedside. Seated in the crook of his leather-clad arm was his infant son.

"Morning!" Una greeted sleepily, "I was wondering if you were here…"

"Oh yeah, I've been around. Just not much a hunter can do to help." Dagan replied. "Just got back from a little outing. At any rate, I wanted to introduce you to my son, Tarod." To Una's dismay, he leaned over and carefully placed the baby in her lap. She was a soldier, caring for babies wasn't something she truly had much experience with.

"Hello, Tarod." Una told the baby. When she was rewarded by a wide smile, she glanced up at Dagan to see how he was reacting more than anything.

"Yeah, he's a flirt. Six months old as of last week." The hunter grinned and rubbed a hand reflexively over the rough, dark stubble covering his jaw. "Course, he's fresh from a nap and got all the unpleasant baby stuff out of his system. So you get him at his best."

Una found herself looking appraisingly at the wide, twisting scar that marred Dagan's forehead. No, _marred_ wasn't the right word… for such an obvious and large scar, it didn't look horrible. Oddly, she found herself thinking it looked good on him.

"That healed well." Una told him, attempting to steady the baby as he leaned sideways abruptly.

Dagan grinned and self-consciously rubbed the scar, apparently unconcerned. "Sure did, thanks to you."

Una gazed down at the infant in her lap as he let loose a shrill cry and then a giggle. Human babies always took her by surprise; to her they aged alarmingly quickly. Evidently, orc children were the same way. Six months wasn't a terribly long time. Tarod was smiling up at her, his grin every bit as large as his father's. Two tiny tusks were already peeking over the edges of his lips. He giggled and patted the heavy cast on her arm with his tiny, green-skinned hands.

Tarod suddenly noticed the tubing running from Una's arm to the bottle overhead. One pudgy green hand reached for it. Dagan rumbled something in Orcish, hurriedly swept the tubing away from the curious little hands, and scooped his son up. "I'll be glad when everything stops going in his mouth."

"I bet. Umm… Have you seen Sergeant Emberblade?" Una asked, glad the child was no longer in her lap. She honestly didn't know how she was supposed to react to him.

"Talking with my wife, actually." Dagan replied, bouncing his son on his arm. "Anything I can help with?"

"I'm just hungry." Una shrugged and leaned her head back into the pillows to stretch her neck.

"After what you've been through, an appetite is a good sign." Dagan replied, walking to the door and looking both ways out of it. He stepped through the threshold and into the hall.

He returned a moment later with Basya and Sergeant Emberblade in tow.

"Rain and Falcon are returning home tomorrow morning." Basya declared, "Your Uncle is holding a brunch in their honor, since by dinner all of you are sleeping already. Think you feel up to going downstairs?"

"I think so." The young woman wasn't sure at all. She still tired extremely easily and those simple, everyday things she once did without thinking were now arduous tasks that all took assistance. "Worst case scenario: I fall asleep on everyone."

"I think that is a risk we shall take." Sergeant Emberblade said, though the cheery words sounded forced. All morning long, the normally talkative paladin had been oddly taciturn.

"Are you all right?" Una whispered in Thalassian to him as he unhooked her from the intravenous drip.

"I'm fine." He replied quietly in Thalassian. "Merely a bit of personal drama. I shall spare you the sordid details."

Basya emerged from the closet with a loose, crimson robe with wide sleeves. "I think this might fit over her cast."

It was one of her Aunt Illoria's robes. Una remembered her wearing it on one of her family's visits when she was young. Part of her wanted to beg Basya against putting it on her, but held her tongue.

"Perhaps it will. Let's see." Rune flipped the covers back from her legs and pulled her to the side of the bed, carefully rotating her until her legs were off the bed. Basya carefully held the sleeve open as Rune held her cast up. It just barely fit.

"A trifle long for her, but no matter." Emberblade said with an approving nod, "She's decent."

"Want me to get her?" Dagan asked, handing Tarod off to his wife.

"No, I can carry her." The red-blonde elf replied, kneeling and attempting to find a good grip. "Just do make sure I don't trip over anything."

Una held her breath as he lifted her, pain flaring from her wounds at drastic change in position. She used to like it as a child, though now it only reminded her of how weak she was. The two orcs walked ahead of them, warning him as he approached the stairs. As he tentatively started down with the couple's guidance, the lady paladin concluded she definitely didn't like being carried anymore.

"… It's not that I fear orc cock. In fact, I find it rather enjoyable under the right circumstances." Falcon's gravelly voice carried easily out into the hallway before they'd even made it down the stairs. Shockingly so, in the two weeks they'd been here, he'd done a lot of growling, mumbling, and glaring but never truly raising his voice within the confines of the house. The subject matter too was slightly surprising, tales of sexual conquest wasn't something typically discussed in mixed or polite company. Though as she understood it, the pair had made use of her Uncle's garden more than once.

She wasn't the only one somewhat surprised by the subject matter. Basya was hiding a smirk by kissing her son's tiny cheek as her husband struggled to control his laughter. Una glanced up at Rune as he carefully stepped down the last two steps; his only response was a mute shrug. The parlor door was partially open, a shaft of sunlight painting a bright stripe across the deep maroon carpeting.

"And what circumstances might that be?" Maggie's voice sounded genuinely amused. Una could hear chuckles and snickers erupt.

"Drunk off my ass, usually, ma'am." The druid answered. It was perhaps the most pleasant Falcon had been towards the others that she had heard.

Still fighting laughter, Dagan pushed the door open the rest of the way to permit Rune to easily enter.

"The only orc I've bedded with seemed to enjoy male companionship, I'm sorry I took his fondness as a way of your people." Falcon continued as they entered.

"Interesting conversation to walk in on." Una commented. Blissfully, her voice had strengthened over the past two weeks. Her voice was still soft, but it was finally audible.

At the head of the table, Garrack had his face covered with one massive hand, the slender stem of an empty elven wine glass lightly clasped in the other. At the sound of her voice he lowered the palm with a happy rumble, "Well, look who's up!" He looked oddly relieved, though Una had only spoken with him earlier in the morning.

The Captain's weathered face was an even deeper green than normal; Una momentarily thought it bruising. She smirked when it dawned on her he was blushing fervently. Maggie, in good spirits, leaned on the back of his chair and draped her arms loosely around his thick, muscular neck and broad shoulders.

Rune sat her down carefully before a low, overstuffed chair that had already been draped with extra pillows and blankets. He and Dagan guided her slowly down until she was enveloped by the plush upholstery and blankets. The blonde paladin covered her lap with another blanket and stepped back to lean against the wall next to her Uncles. The couple took seats on the opposite side of the table from her.

It was probably the oddest gathering she'd ever attended. So many at this table would have possibly been enemies had they been anywhere else but they were all in good spirits, relaxed, and enjoying each other's company.

At the far end of the large, oval table of richly stained wood Faraji, Otieno, and Nantan were playing cards once again while Tallak chatted with her cousin Valeene. The cards laying next to them suggested they had been playing as well until only recently.

Valeene had the face of a Whitebrook, but her father's complexion. A smattering of red freckles crossed the bridge of her delicately arched nose. She casually tossed her blonde tresses away from her face and leaned forward a bit more. Tallak, still pale from his own brush with the Plague, was perhaps the most animated and outgoing she had ever seen the orc.

Whatever the ranger and the hunter were passionately discussing, it had their faces flushed with excitement. An open map lay between them, several spots already marked. Their conversation was quiet, vanishing beneath the volume of the main discussion with ease.

Rain, the healer who had saved her life, was quietly listening to the discussion with a faint smile. His was an expression she couldn't quite fathom, though she concluded it was due to the blindfold. On one hand, he seemed mildly… disturbed, or perhaps the word she was looking for was _distressed_, by the conversation. However, he, like everyone else at the table, also seemed genuinely amused.

To his right, sat Walen. The young elf was withdrawn and brooding, which seemed to be the norm according to Sergeant Emberblade. He was half-heartedly drawing something within a sketch book, his pencil moving languidly across the paper with deliberate strokes. His bald, scarred head was propped on one hand as he stared at the paper. Without his hair, his ears seemed awkwardly large and her attention was equally drawn to a crook in his nose that painfully suggested he had had it broken several times recently. His expression seemed bored, but he was far too engrossed with whatever he was sketching to actually be bored.

To Rain's left sat the ill-tempered druid, Falcon, who seemed to be enjoying the flute of mimosa he had been given. He was relaxed for the first time that Una had seen, leaning back on his chair casually.

Several chairs to her right were empty, presumably for her Uncles and Rune. She counted and there were two extra as well.

Weirdly the table was already set with an assortment empty serving dishes, bowls, and gilt platters though they were all still clean. Brunch had obviously not been served yet, though she wasn't entirely clear why the table was set like it was.

"I won't say males never bed another male, but it is rare unless females are hard to come by." Maggie replied as Garrack reached up to take one of her hands. "May I ask the name of this orc?"

"He goes by the name Demoncraft." Falcon replied.

"Hooo, boy." Dagan groaned with a roll of his eyes. Una noted looks of recognition on the other orcs faces as well.

"So you know of him." The druid said, looking to some extent incredulous. Though tinged with disbelief, it wasn't a question.

"Yes," Maggie nodded with a slight grimace, "That orc has quite the… carnal appetite …"

"If that's what you call it." Garrack growled, "Poor Betsy was never the same after he got done with her."

Una sucked in a loud, surprised breath which set her off into a coughing fit and heads ratcheted around to stare at her in alarm. At Sergeant Emberblade's inquiring touch, she shook her head to indicate she was fine. When the fit ended, she shrugged weakly, "News to me."

Maggie frowned and mouthed her words for only a moment before her jaw dropped. She looked to her husband, "Tell me you did not nickname that poor girl _Betsy_!" Maggie exclaimed loudly, looking mildly angry.

"After Dagda's rag doll, I swear." Garrack exclaimed hurriedly, though his expression was humorous, "The little pink one! The one I thought was supposed to be a pig!"

Maggie's nostrils flared once, but she went no further.

"He'll bed anything with a pulse," Tallak finally spoke up with a shake of his head. "Haven't seen him in some time, wondered if he'd gotten himself killed."

Uncle Eilonel cleared his throat, despite the mage's reddened face; his eyes were twinkling with amusement. "So to quite blatantly change the subject, are we perhaps ready to dine?"

Snickers went around the table along with nods of confirmation.

"Who were we waiting on again?" Garrack rumbled gratefully, nodding his thanks as a servant refilled his wine flute.

"My eldest son and his fiancee, but I fear that conversation will likely go the same as the one we are concluding." Uncle Eilonel said with a smirk, his shoulders rising and falling in a soundless chuckle that was audibly echoed around the table.

With a nod to Nelaniu, the mages stepped up to the table. With what appeared to her as a simple gesture, swirls of bluish magic stirred across the tablecloth. Nelaniu's hand hovered above her plate, a smaller circle of magic appearing above the fine china.

A covered china bowl was suddenly sitting before her. Una looked up in surprise and turned her head to look up at her Uncle. Pleased with her reaction, a wide grin spread across the battle-mage's face as he leaned over and removed the cover to reveal oatmeal with small, tender pieces of peach. He yelped and quickly put the cover down, waving his scalded fingers a moment. "Just slightly too warm." He commented to her in amusement.

After savoring the aroma drifting to her, Una glanced up at the table as food bloomed across the table, all steaming as though fresh from the kitchens.

"Sergeant, I shall let you sit next to her." Uncle Nelaniu said softly, taking a seat two chairs down. Rune took the seat beside her and stirred her oatmeal with a delicate spoon.

"Walen, would you please be as kind as to put that away so we might eat?" Uncle Eilonel asked her younger cousin gently.

Walen merely glanced up at him briefly with his eyes, not even bothering to lift his head, and returned to his drawing.

Both Garrack and her Uncle looked like they both might say something when the door swung open once more.

"Sorry we're late, we were… having a discussion." Anaru said, holding the door for Emmie as she entered before him. Snickers once again rose up around the table accompanied by knowing looks.

Despite seeing Emmie this morning, the red head hurried over to embrace Una tightly. Emmie's face was flushed with excitement. She made a slightly exaggerated movement with her hand and Una caught a flash of a ring upon her finger. Her cousin had apparently made their engagement official.

Uncle Eilonel coughed and issued Anaru a barely perceptible nod in Walen's direction. His expression was a clear, _Deal with your brother._

"Good morning, Walen." Anaru said pointedly. It was a tone of voice she knew well. After all, it was the same tone he used with reticent civilians; and, it meant he expected a reply. It generally worked too.

As with her Uncle, Walen merely glanced up at him sullenly and his lips moved in the pantomime of a greeting.

"I haven't seen you pick up a sketch pad since before mother died," Anaru stated patiently, though his voice remained in that same tone. "You used to have quite a talent. Care if I take a look?"

Walen didn't respond. Anaru cast an apologetic look and began to slip around the table. A sly grin spread across Garrack's face.

"He your youngest?" Captain Backbreaker asked, his eyes on Walen as the youth continued to sullenly draw.

"My youngest is away at the moment." Uncle Eilonel said. "Contrary to his behavior, that one there is nearly of age."

Anaru was behind Walen, the younger elf seemingly unaware of his presence. Una mashed her lips together and fought the urge to giggle. Quick as a cat, Anaru snatched the book from him. "Ooh, he's drawing a girl!" He announced loudly.

Laughter exploded as Walen snarled in fury and leaped from his chair. In one smooth movement, Rain, who had been sitting quietly from the moment she entered the room, had rose to his feet, swept the sketchpad from Anaru's hands, and offered it back to Walen. Una stared at the blind healer as he stood facing Anaru, his body settled into a defensive stance. Anaru was fast, but he had just been one-upped by a blind man.

Anaru had a strange look upon his face. He wasn't surprised, nor was he especially amused. He mashed his lips together and raised and lowered his eyebrows once. He quietly made his way back around the table to take his place beside Emmie.

Meanwhile, Falcon had taken Rain by the wrist and had pulled him back down into his seat. The druid muttered something to the pale healer, bringing forth a brief shiver.

However, Anaru's act had been enough to encourage Walen to set his sketch book aside as he was initially asked to.

Una shook her head and gazed longingly at her bowl of oatmeal. After two weeks of a liquid diet, the idea of returning to real food was heavenly – even if she couldn't actually feed herself yet.

"A toast!" Garrack rumbled after everyone had been served, lifting his glass, "Here's to the strange guests in House Whitebrook and the good fortune they bring!"

"Here! Here!" Anaru echoed.

By the time they had finished and Rune had carried her back to her room, Una was more asleep than awake. Rain and Falcon had retired to the garden and Rune seemed to be in a hurry to make it outside himself. Una felt herself flush and was glad her window was shut. It had been too long since her last roll in the hay and it was far too easy for her imagination to run wild.

She shut her eyes as she tried to remember. The last time she had been with another had actually been Soren Dawnwalker in Ratchet. While she knew it had just been casual sex, she couldn't help but wonder if he would be willing to pursue something more. Una chided herself for being foolish yet again. Soren and she had been very clear with each other that it was nothing more than that.

A heavy wave of fatigue overtook her like an ocean swell. In the span of a single battle, she had lost years of hard work. She was the weakest she had ever been in her adult life. A simple meal and companionship had left her drained and exhausted to her very core.

* * *

_The night before…_

Rain, Lifemate to Falcon Crystalpath, decided he really enjoyed the sensation of lying naked on silk. He loved how the cool smoothness felt on his skin. The sheets still held the scent of the earlier lovemaking session. Stretching he chased away the lingering touches of drowsiness from his afternoon nap. Falcon had been right, he needed that. It seemed like he had been on high alert for the past weeks, always one eye on those he had healed and the other on the elves called "his people." His Heart had also been right about the dangerous situation he had placed them both in. The longer they stayed here, the more chances of their secret getting out. Walen and Una had both recovered from their physical wounds; it was the injuries unseen that worried the young healer. He should try talking to Walen again; sadly he was afraid his appearance caused the other distress.

Suddenly a feeling of not being alone overtook him and he cursed silently at the same time he kept his face devoid of his apprehension. Magister Eilonel had sworn that they would be safe. Though his eyes had been removed by his own hand, Rain could see as clearly as any sighted being, if he took the time to "look." As he did so now, he picked up the life-force of another in the corner of the room he shared with Falcon. If it had been the druid he would have known it already. This one was wrapped in a shield of Light and pissed, that only left a couple of choices, his mother or… "Like what you see Commander Anaru?" he asked, tilting his head toward the brooding elf.

"I didn't want to wake you," the other said brusquely, "You have done much for my family, and you've earned your rest."

"And yet…" Rain said, covering himself with a nearby blanket.

"And yet, I don't trust you." Anaru said approaching the bed. Rain frowned at the closeness and glanced toward the door. "Your keeper is out in the forest with the orc shaman, Maggie, collecting herbs," the paladin said, not hiding the smirk in his voice.

"He is not my keeper," Rain said, "He's my mate." He easily caught the hand headed for his face. "Please, don't…"

"Why?" Anaru asked, making no attempt to remove his hand from Rain's grasp. "What are you hiding?"

"That question has a thousand answers and none," Rain said. "I saved your brother's and your cousin's lives as you pleaded me to do that night. That should be the only answer you need."

"Not good enough," Anaru replied. The spell cast caught Rain by surprised and before he could fight the stun his blindfold was pulled away with a yank. The paladin let out a gasp.

"Like what you see?" Rain asked, his irritation clearly showing. He hated how he looked, Falcon and Crystal called him beautiful, but he was no fool… flesh where eyes should be would unsettle the strongest warriors.

"Demon hunters take out their eyes, but in their place grow sights beyond mortals, how do you still see?" Anaru demanded.

"The same way blind men see," Rain replied holding out his hand for the blindfold. "I sense things around me…"

"Liar," Anaru said, "you can sense a spider on the wall, you can heal wounds that no other mortal healer can mend… you see things way to clearly, my brother."

"I am no brother of yours," Rain replied. His peace from earlier lost, the elf wanted no more than the strength of his Heart's arms around him. He knew the Paladin meant well in his one way but the young elf had enough of this.

"You are more brother to me than mate to a Kaldorei!" Anaru challenged. "You belong here with the Sin'dorei; your gifts should be for the people of Silvermoon."

Annoyance turned to fear. "Do you mean to keep me here against my wishes then?" Rain asked his heart racing.

Before the paladin could answer the door to the room burst open and all hell broke loose. Rain threw himself off the bed and intercepted the large, sleek panther charging toward Anaru. The three of them tumbled to the ground. Rain wrapped his arms tightly around the snarling beast and pushed him away from the paladin. "I'm okay," he said, "I was taken by surprise, that's all… please be calm, please… I want to go home."

Falcon made no attempt to revert back to his elf form as more Sin'dorei raced into the room. Rain quickly buried his face into the ebony fur of the panther to hide his sightless eyes.

"What is going on?" the battle-mage, Nelaniu, demanded.

Rain sensed an increase in magical energies in the room and quickly cast a shield around himself and Falcon, it wouldn't hold up long against the fury of a mage.

"Calm down," the Magister said, "Everyone calm the hell down! You are all guests in my house and I will not have you shed blood! Son, what did you do?"

"He's too valuable of a healer to rot away as some Kaldorei's slut," Anaru said. "He should stay here with his people, he is no demon hunter. I don't know what he is, but perhaps if we study him we can reproduce…"

Rain started to shake and the fur gave away to the strong arms of Falcon. "Study him?" The druid snarled. "You want to know how to reproduce an elf like my Heart? You start young, just a babe and your mother sells you to a demon, after killing your father in front of your eyes. Then you spend your entire youth being taught how to be a Demon Hunter, failure to do so is death. And let's not forget watching your first love killed as you watch. Follow that up with years of servitude to a sadistic demon, spent locked up hours in cage not big enough for a puppy, and your magic forcefully bled from you, kept in a constant state of hunger. If you still have your mind after that, then we'll remove your ability to speak aloud. After that you spend another couple weeks in a cavern we called Hell, where your only chance to save the elves you now love is to complete the training you started all those years ago and become what you hated, a demon hunter. Afterwards you lock a part of you away forever and spend the rest of your life blind."

The room was a stunned silence. "You forgot the most important part," Rain said softly, "Love. I do not know the way of the Sin'dorei; all my interactions with them up to this point have been painful. But with Falcon I have experienced love that few ever have the chance to. Please, do not take that away from me or you will be studying a corpse. I will not live without him and I know him, he will die before he allows you to take me."

"Men," Esmea said exasperated, "I don't care what race you are, where you were born… you're all idiots. I gave my word that you two would be protected while you were here and safely returned to your home once you finished. My oath has not changed; has yours beloved?" As she spoke the cloth of Rain's blindfold slid over his head and she tied it into place, allowing him to raise his face.

"His home is here," Anaru said, but the force behind the words had diminished.

"I know it's cliché but home is where my heart is," Rain said, "and a very big piece of my heart is about to give birth to our daughter. I want to go home… tomorrow," he added quickly, "I'll need to see Una and Walen one last time, later tonight. But I think they are in very good hands here to finish their healing process."

"And how long do you think that will be?" Magister Eilonel asked.

"It's truly up to them," Rain said, "They will know when they are mended."

"I'll make sure the portal is ready," the mage said with a bow. "I apologize for my son's behavior, it was uncalled for, and you are safe here and will be safely returned as our agreement. We appreciate all that you have done. It is a debt I will never be able to repay but if an old mage could ever be of service to you, please let me know."

"Just keep the Commander away from my Heart the reminder of our stay and I'll be content," Falcon said coolly.

"I'll take care of that," Esmea said, "He'll be too tied up to bother you guys. Come beloved, you've caused enough trouble for one day."

* * *

It was nearly dark when Una woke from her nap, the room lit glowing crystals mounted in the lamp fixtures and the light from the fireplace. The curtains were orange now as the fading rays of the sun filtered through her window.

Her eyes fell upon a letter that had been delivered this morning, still laying on the enchanted tray floating barely a foot over the surface of the bed. Una hadn't wished to read it; she had wanted to be in good spirits for the brunch, something she would admit to not having much of at the moment.

To grant her some limited motion, Rune had deactivated a few of the arcane pins that were immobilizing her shoulder, cautioning her against lifting anything. Gingerly, Una lifted her left arm as high as she dared and batted the letter off onto the comforter.

Unable to break the wax, Una was forced to awkwardly tear the letter open bit by bit with the fingers of her right hand. Within was penned a letter with her mother's writing, but the letters were harshly written and Una knew this would be painful.

The door sighed open as she was reading, Una refused to look up to see who it was, knowing her red-rimmed eyes would give away the tears and anger just below the surface. It was one moment when she truly wanted to be alone. No tricks, no secret juvenile desire for someone to hunt her down.

Her parents had proclaimed it was her own fault; that it served her right for traveling with Horde. The letter went on to state she must have faked the severity of her injuries, seeing as how she had "miraculously" recovered. The last line burned the worst. They had disowned her for daring to set foot in Silvermoon. "You're dead to us," her mother's writing declared.

Una had known how they'd react, but the knowledge didn't do anything to soften the blow. She dropped the letter into her lap, half curling forward as she fought not to scream. She wanted to press her hands into her face, but she couldn't with her arms as they were. _Don't scream_, she thought to herself, repeating it until she faintly realized she was starting to mutter it.

The bed sank under the weight of another.

"Scream if you need to. Keeping it inside… is like a poison. My heart used to do the same." Rain's mild voice said.

Una bared her teeth as she shook her head, shuddering, and rocking as her anguish grew. She couldn't make her throat work, she couldn't even so much as think.

"Or, if you can't, cry. I cannot see your tears." His mild voice cut through. She felt his arms wrap around her.

Una clung to him as though a lifeline, her sobs escalating until she was wailing her pain and anger. She eventually fell asleep in his arms, her already weakened body succumbing to exhaustion.

When she awoke the next day, Dagan was sitting by her bedside clad in embroidered brown homespun, his head propped on one hand and a book cradled in the other. He had taken time to shave, his face and head were once again perfectly smooth.

"Morning Dagan…" She whispered, more out of a sense of duty than truly wishing to. After last night, it seemed everything was back to coming out a whisper, whether she wanted it to or not. The young paladin still wanted to be alone. She didn't want to think, feel, or – most of all – discuss what had happened the night before. The wide beam of sunlight shining through her window told her she had missed Rain and Falcon's departure.

The hunter startled, "Oh! Hey, you're awake." He marked his place and set the book aside. "How are you feeling?"

"Alive…" Una sighed and gave a minute shrug. The young woman was tired of being asked that: _How was she feeling, how was she doing. _Of course she wasn't okay. She was two weeks into a recovery that might last years; it might even be permanent.

"Yeah, you sure are." Dagan chuckled.

"I feel so weak." Una complained and then murmured more to herself, "I'm probably hideous too…"

"Not in the face; you're still the same pretty elf I met in the Barrens." She kept forgetting how blasted good Dagan's and Tallak's hearing was. The orc grunted as he leaned as far as he could to the side and rummaged through the drawers of her nightstand. He produced a small but ornate hand mirror and held it for her. "You just look like you picked a fight with a housecat."

He was right, that horrible gash through her cheek was nothing but a fading, lightly scabbed scratch now. Her face was a hideous patchwork of scabs, abrasions, and bruises, but she'd looked worse many times before.

"At the rate you're recovering, you'll be back to normal by Spring." Once again, she was baffled by Dagan's efforts to reassure her. Orcs weren't supposed to be like this. However, Garrack and the others had been nothing but kind to her. Una turned her head away from the orc as her emotions rose once again. She heard him open and close the drawer once again.

"Relax," Dagan said in the same absurdly cheerful tone of voice he'd used when she'd stitched up the wound on his forehead. "Nothing you have to deal with right now."

"Why are you here?" Una asked bluntly, her voice hoarse as she turned her head to face him once again. Garrack was his father-in-law and she assumed Tallak must be related as well… the others possibly friends. One mission and he was sitting at her bedside?

Dagan chuckled, not in the least bit put off by her words. "What am I doing here? After last night, I thought you of all people needed a friend."

Una shut her eyes at his words. By the Light, she was acting like such a horrible bitch. If he had been any other race, she wouldn't be questioning his motives like this.

"Guessing this is your first time badly hurt," Dagan said once more. "You'll be bed ridden for a while, but shit happens to even the best of us."

His emerald face broke into a lecherous grin and he added in a sing-song tone of voice, "On the plus side, I brought you some of my _books_!"

Una sighed, but just couldn't find any enthusiasm.

"I brought you Vonda Mariana's latest: "A Pirate's Dirty Jewel." It's a bit weird; even kinkier than my usual reads… but _it's got pirates_!" He continued cheerfully, unperturbed by her sigh.

"Will you just stop?" Una whispered brokenly. "Look, I know you're trying to cheer me up… but…" The tears came. The orc sat there quietly, watching her as she cried. He leaned forward and rested one massive, green skinned hand on her good shoulder. Damn the hunter, he didn't even have the courtesy to act predictably. Most males shied when a female cried. And he was just sitting there, unfazed, allowing her to go through her emotions.

"I'm sorry…" Una choked out as she finally started to calm.

Dagan waved dismissively, "Don't apologize, Una. I don't even know what to say without getting angry for you. Orcs don't really _do _shit like that."

Una shuddered and mashed her lips together, fighting to control a fresh wave of emotion. For a people regarded as savages, she was growing to like them more and more.

The hunter sighed and shifted slightly in the chair so he could lean in closer. "Eh, was going to wait to tell you this, but I think you need a morale boost. Few days ago, I got bored and Valeene? – that pretty, blonde ranger-cousin of yours?"

Una nodded weakly in confirmation.

"Anyway, we were bored. So we went for a ride… all the way out to Plaguewood." He grinned broadly, the wide, toothy smile stretching across his emerald face, "You would never guess who we found."

Una sucked in a breath, "My horse?"

Impossibly his grin widened further in answer, "He was a bit worse for wear, but nothing that can't be fixed."

Una shut her eyes as tears started to flow once again. She shuddered and a sob of relief escaped. Hiram had hammered it into her that their Chargers were expendable. "_In the end, tis always better to lose a horse than yer life,"_ he had told her. However, it was impossible not to feel upset about losing Vesper.

"Those better be happy tears this time, elf." Dagan said softly, his expression soft. The orc once again leaned forward to grip her shoulder as she cried.

Una nodded by way of reply, attempting to smile even though she continued to sob.

"Good, I'd hate to have made you cry for no reason." Dagan said with satisfaction. "You're leaking all over the damn place here." He teased. Una heard the door open and the voices of her cousin and uncles filled the room. The hunter nodded to them in greeting and picked up his book.

"Thank you…" Una whispered, truly grateful, trying her best to put some force behind her words.

"You bet." Dagan replied cheerfully, patting her right shoulder once more. "I'll be back later." He added quietly.

"Hello, Una." Anaru greeted, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning in to embrace her tightly. He noted the tears and concern flashed across his freckled face, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just needed a good cry…" Una allowed him to wipe the tears from her cheeks as Uncle Eilonel rounded the foot of the bed and sat down at her other side. Uncle Nelaniu looked like he had eaten a lemon before entering the bedroom as he leaned on the foot of her bed with a decidedly sour look upon his face. Anaru embraced her tightly once more, holding her until she was calm once more.

"The men have been asking about you, they wanted me tell you that you've been in their prayers." Anaru said eventually, letting her recline upon her pillows once again. "Lieutenant Ludger and Private Powell said to pass along their well-wishes as well."

Una nodded solemnly, "Please tell them thank you."

"I will." Anaru said, leaning in to embrace her once more. "There's no need to feel pressure to recover quickly, we won't be deployed until Spring. The seas won't be navigable until the ice breaks anyway."

"It usually doesn't until March at the very earliest." Nelaniu said quietly.

"Next week, we shall be transporting your companions and their loved ones home." Uncle Eilonel said, "Do you wish to return to your parents to recover?"

Una stared at him incredulously. After that letter, after them declaring she was dead to them, after all that… her Uncle was still offering. Even if her parents were only bluffing, their words burned like acid. Perhaps she could recover with Hiram and his wife – worst she'd endure with the dwarven couple was having to eat her weight in haggis and fried cabbage. Her parents, however, were out of the question. It was as if they hated their family more than they loved her. Was their love and support too much to ask?

"I told you her answer already." Anaru's mild voice was an odd mixture of mechanical and ill, a sound she only heard him make once before.

"I can't…" Una began, but paused as she fought to calm down. "I can't handle the stress right now. I just can't. May I please stay?" The question came out a plea.

"Oh, Una." Eilonel breathed, wrapping her in an embrace. "Of course you may stay, my dear."

Nelaniu rubbed his face, looking somewhat ill. "Delightful..."

Una stared at the fair elf, feeling her eyes grow wet yet again. Anaru and Uncle Eilonel looked at him in anger. After being so estranged for so long, Nelaniu would the one to question her? She exclaimed tearfully, "I just want to be with my family!"

"Una! Please… listen for a moment." The battle-mage said carefully yet firmly, stepping forward to kneel by her bedside. He laid his pale hands upon her fingertips protruding from beneath the white plaster that shrouded her right arm. His pale eyes looked sincere as he gazed into her own eyes, "I would _never_ deny you this, but we Quel'dorei are regarded as traitors in Silvermoon." Una looked away and she felt him lightly stroke the underside of her chin with the side of a finger. "There could be those who would wish you harm."

"She's Argent Dawn, Uncle – they can't!" Anaru exclaimed as his father declared simultaneously, "By virtue of the Steamwheedle treaties and the extensions that grant the same protection to other neutral entities and organizations, it would be illegal…"

"Irregardless of laws or treaties –That is _exactly_ what I fear." Nelaniu explained loudly, rising to his feet swiftly. He crossed arms clad in violet silk over his chest. "Frankly, our people have a long, sordid history of making… injudicious choices. Una is weak, fragile, and will be for months."

It was easy for her to guess the battle-mage's train of thought. She would be an easy mark for someone with a grudge.

Anaru groaned and sank back down onto the edge of Una's bed as his words sank in. At last he spoke up, "She'll need a body-guard…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** This concludes my two chapter crossover with KooriRoninHeart's _Hell Cavern_. I hope you enjoyed it! If you'd like to read, a link to her stories can be found under my favorite authors in my profile.

Thanks to KooriRoninheart, Rooietroll, and Seleya Soulfire for your reviews! You're awesome, thanks so much!

Thanks to KooriRoninHeart for letting me play with her characters and for co-authoring this chapter with me. *HUGS* Love you, Sis!


	13. Chapter 13: Familiarity

**Chapter 13 – Familiarity**

* * *

Una heaved a weighty sigh as Anaru rose from the bed to pace across the room like a caged animal. The young Quel'dorei woman felt utterly drained, physically and emotionally, as though she had run headlong into a brick wall. Her heightened emotions had taxed her recovering body more than she could afford at the moment. Uncle Eilonel turned so he could recline on the pillows and wrapped an arm clad in vivid scarlet silk around her. Una sighed once more and briefly rested her forehead against him.

Anaru's mood was darker than she had ever seen in him previously. The days had taken their toll on him as well. Where as his father finally looked rested, Anaru looked even more haggard. Normally as well kept as he could manage in the field, his clothes were rumpled as though he had been sleeping in them and dark circles rimmed his emerald eyes. His long brown hair was tangled and unkempt, as though he had not bothered to even so much as comb it recently.

Uncle Nelaniu was frowning deeply, his expression souring to an outright scowl. Unlike Eilonel and Anaru, he looked fresh and rested despite the conversation that probably wasn't going the way he wanted. Una knew he probably wanted her to go to Dalaran with him. Frankly, she didn't really know any of her family who lived in the violet city. Most had been estranged, as Nelaniu had been, for most of her life.

The battle-mage's arms were crossed over the eye embroidered in golden thread upon his violet robes as he leaned against the foot of her bed. "Who would you choose to be this… bodyguard?" There was contempt in his words, a growl that warned he wasn't about to not have his way… whatever that might be.

Una closed her eyes briefly and hung her head. She stared at the plush comforter as she fought to control her emotions. She would break at this rate. Didn't she just _tell_ them she couldn't handle stress right now?

"A Blood Knight." Eilonel answered simply for his son, stroking her chin with the back of his slender fingers and drawing her face up until she met his eyes. The expression upon his lined face and within his emerald eyes seemed to be begging her to calm down. Una sighed and rested her head against her Uncle once more.

"Those wretches who believe themselves to be the only _true_ paladins?" The battle-mage spat contemptuously.

"Yes, brother, the very same Knights who appeared at my doorstep to save one of their own." Eilonel said firmly, though his voice remained gentle.

"But she_ isn't_ one of _theirs_." The battle-mage growled, "She's a knight of the Alliance."

"Yes, and despite that, they still came." Eilonel said resolutely.

"I never took you for a romantic, Eilonel." Nelaniu commented sardonically, his elegant, pale face twisted into an expression of both disbelief and disgust. His eyes narrowed slightly and his expression became gauging. After a moment, he added calculatingly, "Perhaps… they see her as a wayward daughter of Silvermoon. Misguided and in need of _enlightenment_."

Una felt a pang of anger at the battle-mage's words. She might be young and a green soldier – under the right circumstances, she might even readily describe herself as _naïve_ – but she was no fool. What did he take her for?

"I'll talk to Talaerion Sunward and Ashal Orlinde." Anaru replied suddenly, rubbing a hand over his face. Una recognized the names. Her grandfather had taken many apprentices during his time as a paladin, most had been human, though he had instructed a very few High Elves. "Even if they refuse, they might know of someone who would."

"Might I ask how do you know you can trust these… _elves_?" The blonde elf asked. His voice was mild, but his stance and body language was belligerent.

"I entrusted them with my life, Uncle." Anaru stated, his voice pitched forcefully with annoyance. He stalked forward until he was looming before the blonde mage and his voice lowered menacingly until she could barely hear him, "And I'd gladly do so again in a heartbeat."

The battle-mage opened his mouth to once again refute and Una reached a breaking point. Frankly, Nelaniu had a funny way of showing any concern by arguing at her bedside. This man hadn't cared to so much as write her for most of her life and only _now_ did he feel fit to be _worried_? Where was he during all the other hardships she'd endured during her life?

"Shut up!" Una barked hoarsely to the pale mage and then cast her gaze to Anaru. Her elder cousin hadn't won any points with her either. She made no attempt to hide her wrath. An ominous tickle in her chest told her that she had pushed herself too far and she started to cough. They gazed at her in alarm, as though suddenly remembering her presence.

"My apologies, Una." Nelaniu said when the coughing eased, his expression softening. His azure eyes held a tinge of regret and something more, "I'm… afraid for you. More afraid than I've been in many years…"

"I understand." The young woman replied faintly, attempting to force herself into her city guard frame of mind. She needed to disassociate herself from what was happening before she hurt herself. The Guard had certain phrases they tended to use whenever they dealt with irate citizens and they were quietly passed on to each successive generation of guards. That phrase, among others, had the tendency to remove most people's ability to argue. She hoped it would work on her uncle.

"Una, I'm sorry…" Anaru said, stepping forward with extended arms as though he wanted to embrace her.

"_Don't_ touch me… right now." Una told him tightly, weakly lifting her left hand as far as it would go to gesture for him to stay away from her. Uncle Eilonel held his hand up as well to back her request, his expression towards his eldest son stern.

Her cousin cast his gaze briefly at the carpeting, his face pained. He sighed and then seemed to draw himself up as he turned his attention back to their Uncle.

"Ashal and Talaerion were both very fair." Anaru said with forced calm. She knew him well enough to know his patience was growing as thin as her own, "I can't see them wishing Una any harm or forcing her to do anything against her will…"

The battle-mage remained silent; he sighed heavily and cast his gaze at the floor after looking at Una once more.

Uncomfortable silence fell across the room, the ticking of her clock aggravatingly loud. Anaru's and Nelaniu's body language were both confrontational and avoidant at once, as though the men were daring each other to words or actions.

"Are there any other apprentices nearby?" Una asked in what she prayed was a hopeful tone of voice after a moment in a deliberate attempt to change the subject.

The young woman had never had much of an opportunity to truly know her grandfather as an adult woman; the man she idolized so much had been unable to take her as an apprentice. When she'd initially asked, Andris had deemed her too young and by the time she had come of age, he already had too many apprentices. Instead, Hiram, a longtime friend and neighbor, had taken her under his wing.

She could distract herself reminiscing with her Grandfather's former apprentices, dwell for a time in the past when life wasn't so daunting. It was something all three men present should know about her.

"Not here, no. Only five of us survived the Third War." Anaru said regretfully with a shake of his head. "Koili Dawnbreak was killed in action last winter and I don't know where Daesin Sutherland is. I have to return to Stormwind soon… That leaves those two."

"Might I suggest discussing this with Ashal first?" Eilonel said a little too eagerly, "It was he and Sergeant Emberblade who brought your brother home… and assisted in Una's rescue." He had been stanch, cheerful at times, but this was the first time her uncle had seemed this enthusiastic in the weeks since she'd arrived.

Anaru also caught the over-eagerness in his father's voice and gazed at the mage for a long moment with a strange expression on his face. He put his hands on his hips and asked slowly, "… And _that_ is code for what, father?"

"That is code for nothing." The magister stated with a dismissive sweep of his hand, "I merely think he would be excellent."

Anaru raised an eyebrow, but didn't inquire further.

"I presume this matter is settled – yes?" Uncle Eilonel spoke mildly as he cast a gaze to her cousin and Uncle Nelaniu in turn, who nodded. His voice abruptly grew in strength, though he managed to remain mild of tone. "Good. I shall not have you upset her further." Without moving from his place next to her, he pointed sharply to the door, his expression abruptly severe. Una remembered the tone of voice well. It was the same tone of voice she heard when they were placed in quarantine.

Anaru and Nelaniu bid their farewells and stepped from the room.

"I am truly sorry, Una." Eilonel sighed and massaged his temples. "They both mean well… but if I had known that was going to happen, I wouldn't have allowed it."

Una nodded her understanding. A dull ache had started in her back and hips, she took deep breaths, but it didn't subside. She braced her left arm against the mattress to change position, but sharp pain in her shoulder warned her against trying.

"Would you please help me? I need to shift… this position is starting to hurt…" She whispered plaintively.

"Of course!" The mage exclaimed, rising to help her move into a more comfortable position upon the mattress.

Once she was comfortable, Eilonel strode across the room and she heard the window sigh open. The warm autumn breeze coming through the window brought wind chimes once again and the sweet sounds of songbirds.

It reminded her of Elwynn. And she had just begged to stay in Quel'thalas, on Horde-controlled soil. No matter how permissible and legal it was, Una still felt like a traitor.

Eilonel returned and sat in the chair Dagan had occupied earlier. He smiled adoringly. He resembled her father too much, it was hard looking at him. If only her father could act like him…

"Is the ring functioning well for you?" The older elf asked suddenly.

It took her a moment to remember the ring that was hidden under the heavy plaster that overlapped her fingers. She vaguely remembered Belestra placing it upon her finger as she was waking up from the anesthesia. "I guess?" Una replied, unsure of what she should be feeling.

"Excellent." Eilonel replied. "It's quite old and we were unsure how well it would attune."

_Attune. _There was only one ring Una could think of off the top of her head that needed attunement: a Sunwell Ring. She had never worn or needed one, though she knew what they were and of their rarity. They were even rarer after the destruction of the Sunwell. The fact they felt she needed to wear one didn't bode good.

So many things she wanted to know and she couldn't figure out how to form the questions. At last she shook her head and asked a helpless, "Why?"

"You were so ill... Captain Backbreaker thought you might have breathed in fungal spores from Naxxramas." The mage replied, "Forgive me, I don't know specifics. You had three… episodes… with your heart." He patted the space above his own heart demonstratively.

Una nodded, remembering the pain in her chest before they were found and brought to Silvermoon City.

"They thought it might be your arcane addiction and wanted permission to sate it." He sighed and shook his head, "I wanted to leave the choice to you. Thus the ring…"

Una blinked away tears as a fresh wave of emotion came. Her grandfather had been one to stress the importance of personal decisions. _In the end, your decisions are what define you._ Her idol's words still resonated. It was bittersweet hearing the same words come from her uncle. Her grandfather's letter was lost to the Plaguelands, forever unread. She glared at her parents' letter, lying so benignly on the tray despite the vicious words. There was a cruel irony there.

The young woman looked to her uncle to give him a reassuring smile, a small lie to cover what her face had probably conveyed.

The mage's gaze had fallen upon the enchanted tray, now floating at the foot of the bed. A frown settled upon him and Una knew he was also staring at her parent's letter. He made a deceptively simple beckoning gesture and the tray dutifully floated to him. She fought the urge to hold her breath.

Eilonel's slender fingers picked at the corner of the neatly folded letter; lifting the parchment timidly, as though he expected a viper to spring forth. At last, he unfolded the letter and began to read. The way everyone had seemed to know the message the letter contained, she had assumed he had already read it.

As his face fell and narrow shoulders slumped, she realized how wrong she was.

"Ferran, you fool!" The magister whispered harshly, seeming to grow old before her very eyes. Una felt her heart climb into her throat as she suddenly realized how closely the mage sat to the edge of frailty. His face, so much like her father's that it was heart-breaking, was anguished and exhausted. He leaned backward when he finished and cupped his face in his palm.

After several long moments, he spoke haltingly in a voice barely above that of the whisper she had been forced to speak in, "My beloved brother…" Una couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine. "Has always had a penchant for fables."

"Fables?" She asked questioningly. To her memory, it had been her mother who had always told her stories and read to her as a child. Her father had been deployed somewhere or another for most of her childhood, lending his bow to the ancestral House of Wrynn and later The Grand Alliance. Her grandfather and Hiram had told her more folklore and stories than her own father ever had.

Her Uncle nodded and slumped deeper into the chair with a sigh that seemed to come from his soul, "Fables. For I am not sure what else to call them."

Eilonel rose in a rustle of cloth and started to pace the room, just as Anaru did when he was agitated and becoming lost within his own brooding thoughts. Una gazed at him, too tired to pursue his words. Just so tired. She didn't want to talk about this. She would rather sleep.

"I am truly, truly sorry, Una. I wish that I could shoulder this for you." He said softly. "Suffice to say, you are not at fault. It is difficult to explain. Our family seems determined to erode any sanity left within our bloodline. Ferran himself has always been known to jump to conclusions and concoct the most elaborate… fables around them."

"Uncle… my _mother_ wrote that letter…" Una remarked with a sigh. While she had noticed that peculiarity in her father long before, it didn't explain her mother's role. However, it was comforting to know she hadn't imagined or exaggerated that trait.

"Tyalaria… is indeed another story – that woman has always been an enigma to me." Her Uncle groaned. He closed his eyes and massaged his cheekbones, as though his sinuses were ailing him. When he spoke again, his voice was wistful and sad, "Illoria knew her far better than I. For what my words are worth, your mother always seemed to be… buried beneath her insecurities."

Una nodded and sighed, "But why disown me for just… being here?"

Eilonel sank into the chair at her side, "That, my dear, is a long story and best told when one can lose one's sobriety shortly after."

The way he said that final, conclusive statement, she knew he didn't wish to continue the conversation further. It suited her; she wasn't sure she wanted to know at this point.

"Is Walen okay?" The last time she had seen her younger cousin was at dinner. She hadn't heard so much as a word from him or about him.

"My dear niece, we seem determined to converse about the most unpleasant, stressful topics." His thin lips flexed and he smiled ironically, "Physically? He seems to be doing quite well." Una leveled her gaze at him. Her Uncle sighed deeply, "His heart and mind? Not well at all." He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "My apologies, I don't wish to upset you further…"

"No, it's okay." Una could relate very well to that statement. "What was he doing in Outland in the first place?" The paladin asked, unable to hold the question back any longer. From what she had heard, Outland was a broken, hellish world struggling against the onslaught of the Burning Legion.

"I was _told_ he was to be an apprentice to Master Daellis Dawnstrike." The magister gave her a helpless shrug. Guilt rose in nearly palpable waves from his body as his voice lowered, "I only wanted to give him the same opportunity Anaru had…" He paused momentarily and then continued, "Commander Orlinde informed me he had been assigned as a bodyguard to a former colleague of mine and stationed at an entirely different location."

Una raised an eyebrow, "What did they tell Walen?"

Eilonel sighed, "He hasn't spoken of…" His voice faltered and he took a deep breath before continuing, "My son isn't ready to speak of it. Something horrible happened, of that much I am sure."

"Do you want me to try talking with him?" Una asked.

"No, Una. When he is ready, he will come to one of us." Her uncle then fell silent, his emerald eyes haunted. She had no doubt there were a million things he was leaving unsaid, though whether it was for her benefit or his she couldn't tell.

She yawned and a tired shiver ran through her muscles. The mage startled as the muscle spasm ran its course, his expression briefly alarmed. He sighed in relief and laid a hand upon her leg.

Una was almost asleep when something occurred to her: Why did her Uncle recommend one former apprentice over the other? The elder had taken to brooding, his gaze absently fixed on a random spot on the wall. One forefinger was absently stroking his cleanly shaven upper lip.

"What did you mean?" She asked drowsily.

"Regarding…?" He prompted guardedly, raising an eyebrow and gesturing with his fingers for her to continue.

"Grandfather's apprentices…"

"Ah! Of the two, Ashal is closest to your age and I believe you share more in common." Her uncle answered readily with a kind smile. "Familiarity breeds compassion."

"Is it bad when my brain immediately inserts the word _contempt_?" Una chuckled wryly.

"No, my dear." Eilonel's chuckle was as dry as her own. "After those conversations, not at all."

* * *

Ashal Orlinde reclined in his high backed chair, settling deeper into the plush velvet upholstery, his eyes fixed upon the door. The elegantly appointed décor was intimate, dark, and quiet. Periodically came the clink of glass and china as the innkeeper and cook idly cleaned the already immaculate bar. The chandelier of gilt chain and vivid azure gems gave off a muted glow above their heads and played intriguing patterns of light and shadow upon the highly polished granite upon the walls.

Runean Emberblade numbly studied the steaming cup of tea before him as though the gilt china could offer him the respite he needed. Or perhaps his sleep-deprived mind simply couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do with the beverage. Assigned as the personal physician of the Whitebrook house and their guests, he had been on-duty for weeks on end; held as a veritable prisoner on the estate by the recently lifted quarantine.

The blond paladin should be out enjoying his first day off since that horrible night in October; not staring at a damned cup of tea as they waited on Anaru Whitebrook.

Anaru was very late. Ash sighed and shook his head yet again. He yearned for a stiff drink, though at this hour, he had to feign at least some level of decorum. He took another sip of his lemonade, pursing his lips in annoyance at the flavor. It wasn't what he wanted, but it would have to do.

That seemed to be his standard as of late. Nothing was ever exactly what he wanted, but whether it was food, drink, companionship, or employment – it always _would have to do_. He had sworn to never return to a point of settling for the minimum. Yet the universe was determined to reduce him to the lower common denominator yet again. As such, he was finding his way to the bottom of a glass or bottle more and more frequently again. If something didn't change and soon, he'd lose himself to his old ways… abandon all his hard-fought victories and become a miserable shell of himself.

It was the only reason he was entertaining this meeting. Anaru Whitebrook, his former mentor's grandson, had requested this gathering within an official-looking missive from the Argent Dawn. It was intriguing that he would approach them in such a manner, rather than any other way.

Rune moved languidly to brush a hand over his face, as though a fine hair was bothering him. From their conversation this morning, it was trivial for Ash to deduce Rune's motivations to be here.

Rune covered it well, but Ash knew he was livid over the quarantine. It had been entirely unnecessary. The samples taken from Captain Backbreaker and his men had been exhaustively analyzed by the Royal Apothecary Society. The strains had been non-contagious. The Scourge had engineered the plagues to be all but impossible to purge from their intended victims; but in exchange the diseases had lost their ability to transmit via conventional means… something Rune and the other healers had sensed.

The Horde's agonizingly slow reaction to the Lich King's brazen attack also weighed heavily upon Rune's mind. Rune's father, a cleric of the Holy Light, had traveled to Northrend with Arthas Menethil, never to return. The blond healer held no illusions of his father's survival and no fantasies of finding him somewhere amid the frigid arctic. No, he wanted revenge on the mad prince who had stolen his father's life.

At this time of day, The Wayfarer's Rest was mostly deserted, beyond Rune and himself, there was only a few of locals enjoying a light meal and conversation together. Anaru could not enter or leave unseen.

Time passed as though at a crawl. The locals finished their meal and made their way through the tavern to the bright, sunlit streets beyond.

At last, Anaru arrived, looking as though he were infiltrating an enemy encampment than striding into a local tavern.

"Hello, Ash; Rune." Anaru greeted, touching the tips of his fingers to his forehead in salute.

"Hello, Anaru." Ash replied with a nod of the head. "Good to see you."

Rune frostily nodded his greeting.

Anaru and the blond paladin had generally been on friendly terms. Ash could only conclude that something had happened at the Whitebrook estate to raise the healer's ire. Rune didn't seethe like this over normal, trivial matters, he exploded in a brief fury and the issue that sparked it was soon forgotten.

Ash was the opposite and so was Anaru. They had always walked a narrow line, at times the best of friends and the worst of enemies. Anaru and he had spent the better part of their youth at each other's throats, only to eventually become apprentices to the same master – Anaru's very own grandfather. They made a good team when their personalities didn't clash.

"Likewise." Anaru said, taking a seat at their table. Whitebrook looked as exhausted as Rune, his features pinched and his expression haggard. It was to be expected with what happened to his younger brother and cousin. It was a relief to know he had made the right choice for Walen. As much dislike as he harbored for the Alliance, it had been impossible not to feel as much pity for the woman as he had for Walen. Though from what Rune had told him, both were expected to make a full recovery.

Anaru's gaze fell to the table, studying the place setting before him. Ash glanced at Rune and a silent communication went between them. It was behavior both recognized. Whitebrook had the habit of brooding, even for a minute, as he collected his thoughts and fought to find the right thing to say. Anaru had learned from all the times his mouth and often-misplaced sense of justice had brought him to blows with those around him.

"So what is this about?" Ashal asked directly, unwilling to grant him the time he customarily took.

"I need you." Anaru blurted hoarsely, the words falling heavily from his lips. "Both of you."

Unsurprised, Ash raised an eyebrow at his former companion and gestured, "Go on."

Anaru sighed in frustration, struggling with his words as he always did when emotionally overwhelmed, "Tirion Fordring assumed leadership of the Argent Dawn following the Battle of Light's Hope. He's united the Argent Dawn and the remaining Knights of the Silver Hand. There's been a mass defection from the Scarlet Crusade..."

"Fascinating." Ash mused, leaning forward to steeple his fingers.

Tirion Fordring had been convicted as a traitor to crown and country for fraternizing with an orc. Now the paladin had returned, not as a reclusive hermit but a military leader. Ash had known him, of course, before his trial and banishment. Fordring would be a force to be reckoned with if he could raise an army. Not only that, but one of the major thorns in the side of both Quel'thalas and the Undercity had already joined under Fordring's banner. Fascinating news, indeed.

"Additionally, a considerable number of Death Knights also broke free from the Lich King's control… they've pledged themselves to the war effect." Anaru continued.

"I see." Ash raised his eyebrows. From the sounds of it, Fordring was well on his way to raising that army then. "Then it's a case of: _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_?"

"Can you see why I need you?" Anaru asked quietly.

"So he's seeking all of the former Knights, I presume?" Rune asked, outwardly placid though his eyes were half-lidded.

Once again, Ashal was unsurprised. Back at the time of Tirion's conviction, Rune had been a priest; and, though he had filled an integral support role he had been deemed unfit for knighthood due to his physique. Also he – like many of Silvermoon – blamed Lord Uther and the Knights of the Silver Hand for Arthas' betrayal and the subsequent destruction of Quel'thalas.

"Yes and no…" Anaru said faintly. "_I_ need you… I need men I can trust at my side. I've already received word I have no less than three former Scarlets already assigned to my regiment. I need another lieutenant and a medical officer… and I'd rather have you at my side. Plus, Una…" He paused momentarily, "Una's… spending the winter in Silvermoon. I need a bodyguard and a trainer for her." He looked up at them, his gaze pleading.

"What of Una? Can she not fill the role?" Rune asked. He gently pushed the now cold cup of tea way from him and then rested his hands, his pale fingers laced, upon the table.

The brown haired paladin shook his head, "Una wasn't awarded a rank; and, the attack that crippled her happened before her title could be discussed. Presently, she's recognized as an adherent of the Argent Dawn." Anaru sighed and gave them an expressive shrug, "With the restructuring, she may remain a Private for the time being."

"I see." Rune said quietly, his gaze narrowing further. He crossed his arms over his chest, his face stormy.

Ashal narrowed his own eyes and asked quietly, "Considering how we parted ways, _brother_, why should I – _we_ – accept?" The word "brother" came out a growl.

Anaru had always worn his anger like a noble wore fine cloth and jewels; an abiding, generic rage hidden behind a artfully crafted façade. It had only escalated after the deaths of his mother and grandfather. Seeing him like this, practically at the edge of groveling, however satisfying, was merely another mask as far as Ash was concerned.

"Highlord Fordring is prepared to offer you your current rank and the appropriate compensation…" Anaru said at last.

Ash suppressed an intake of breath and from the way Rune looked up suddenly, his interest was piqued as well.

"Supposing we accept… I presume there is a catch?" Rune said cautiously, his voice gaining volume for the first time.

"There is no catch." Anaru said with a sigh. "And we won't deploy until Spring."

"Very well." Ash said, "I'm yours."

* * *

Seven weeks went by, each week bringing a small improvement. Little by little, she was able to stay awake longer, do more for herself, and a blessed sense of normalcy returned. Whenever she thought about it, she marveled that just under two months had passed since she had been brought to Silvermoon City more dead than alive. It all seemed like an absurd nightmare now; save for the scars that marred her body and the lack of stamina that still plagued her. The healers had allowed the scars to remain as a reminder of close Una had come to losing her life.

A little over four weeks ago, Garrack Backbreaker and his men had returned to their families to recover. Maggie had directed Una in some practical mana exercises to begin rebuilding her strength by healing herself.

It had been extremely difficult saying goodbye to her friends. She knew she should be happy for them, they were returning home to recover with their families, but it still felt like she had lost them. With war looming, they could easily die in battle with the Alliance or Scourge before she saw any of them again.

Her Uncle had returned to Dalaran later the same day to get some work done before he returned to celebrate Winterveil.

It had been a little lonely and decidedly quiet after that.

She had the company of her Uncle's servants, of course. Walen, still recovering from his own brush with death, had sequestered himself in his quarters. Her youngest cousin, Kaleril, was still at the academy until closer to the Winterveil holiday. Instead, Esmea had been Una's near constant companion over the preceding weeks. Una had started looking forward to the red haired woman's visits, missing her fiercely whenever she had to return to duty. Fortunately, Dagan had left her a generous supply of novels and she started voraciously reading them.

All that had changed just this morning, when the priestess, Belestra, had removed her casts and deactivated the final arcane pins holding her left shoulder in place. The pins would vanish in a few hours like all conjured things tended to do as the arcane energy naturally deteriorated. Her left arm would remain in a sling for several more weeks and she still had months to go in her recovery, but at least she could enjoy the Winterveil season.

"Can I take it off now?" Una asked Emmie, rubbing her gloved right hand over the mauve silk scarf that blocked her sight.

Emmie had arrived right after Belestra had departed to whisk her off to a surprise she had planned. Una wasn't sure what to expect. Part of her wondered if she'd find herself in a brothel, trying on risqué clothes and lingerie, or dining on foods with suggestively themed names. However, Emmie had done very little of that since she'd been up here.

"Soon!" Emmie replied cheerfully. The cart's bench seat lurched slightly, the sound of the wheels changed, and the road seemed much smoother. The wintry air that chilled her exposed face and seeped through her clothes and the warm cloak she wore grew distinctly warmer.

"Emmie, you've been saying that for the last twenty minutes!" The brown haired woman exclaimed as she braced herself in case the cart lurched again, "Will you at least give me a hint?"

"I have not!" The Sin'dorei woman retorted, "It's only been fifteen. And it wouldn't be a surprise anymore if I told you!"

"Fine! Be that way!" Una exclaimed in jest, sticking her tongue out at her friend who laughed merrily.

Una dropped her hands in her lap as the path seemed to even out further. She fidgeted with her ring through her glove, or rather, ran her fingers around the golden band. The young Quel'dorei woman couldn't move it or even so much as twist it.

Forcing herself to stop fidgeting, Una couldn't help but feel slightly anxious about starting her rehabilitation and the looming holiday. There was no way she'd be ready to go to Northrend by Spring, but she'd be left behind yet again if she wasn't.

Sergeant Emberblade and Commander Orlinde, the elf who was to be her bodyguard, had left a week ago to undergo the Trials of the Argent Crusade. Esmea had told her Anaru had enlisted them to be both officers under him as well as her trainers. They were supposed to return any day now; possibly even today, if the pass was clear.

She bit her lip and then asked, "Have you heard anything from them?" She didn't have to tell Esmea who she was inquiring about.

"Not yet, but the Farstriders report was favorable." Esmea replied.

"How much snow have they gotten?" Una asked, curious. The days had been cold lately and this brisk morning was no exception.

The young elf woman hadn't realized they didn't get snow in Quel'thalas. She had awkwardly bounded from bed to the window for several mornings in a row before one of the servants had informed her. She had known the country was sheltered by ancient runestones that maintained a state of perpetual autumn, but had assumed they could at least get a dusting of snow. The temperature could certainly vary quite a bit, they had told her, but never to the point where snow could fall. Beyond the bounds of those enchantments; however, winter would be in full effect.

Una was jostled as Emmie took the cart around a surprisingly tight corner. Curiosity got the better of her and she carefully slid the blindfold up to peek. Silvermoon City's white, gold and crimson streets met her eyes; all brightly decorated for Winterveil.

"No peeking! We're almost there!" Emmie's hand patted Una's right hand gently as an admonishment and the brown haired woman obediently returned the blindfold to its position over her eyes. "They've already had several blizzards. Though I don't believe that will delay their return."

Their hawkstrider gave an indignant squawk as Emmie pulled the cart to a halt. "And we have arrived!" The Blood Knight announced cheerfully.

Emmie helped her down and turned cart and hawkstrider over to a stable hand. Holding onto Emmie's arm, the taller elf guided her a short distance and Una heard a door open. Voices, and the smell of a fireplace met her as they entered the building.

A male voice chuckled. Una knitted her eyebrows together as her friend helped her out of her cloak and to sit.

"So she doesn't know where she is." The red haired elf said jovially in what sounded like an explanation.

"I wouldn't know where I was even without the blindfold!" Una protested. She heard a snicker.

"Oh, relax!" Esmea said in jest, "You will _like_ this!"

"Kaleril, I swear I'll laugh if you fall!" A man commented.

"Helios! Shh!" Emmie hissed. There was a long pause, punctuated by more snickers. She deliberately untied the blindfold, taking her time undoing the simple knot.

"Surprise!" Emmie proclaimed and the blindfold was gone.

As applause rose around her, Una gazed around the small, quaintly decorated café and the casually dressed blood elves gathered around her table. Kaleril, still shorter than the adults, had climbed atop a nearby table to see. Walen sat to her right, blinking in surprise the same way she was. She glanced up as the elf who had brought Walen stepped around the table, the way the blond moved she guessed he was a ranger.

A cheesecake sat on the table before them, elegantly topped with chocolate adeptly shaped into an elegant, multi-pointed star… the symbol of the Argent Dawn.

Una felt a blush creep across her face and up to the tips of her ears as the applause only intensified. Many of the knights had appeared at her bedside while she was fighting for her life, others were Farstriders who had served beside Aunt Illoria before her death.

A bottle of red wine was uncorked and glasses passed out to those around the room.

"A toast!" The blond male cried to Esmea, thrusting his glass high into the air and the others raised their glasses as well, chanting the same. Kaleril, who had climbed down and made his way over to sit beside her, let out a loud whistle of agreement that would have made his father and brother proud.

"A toast to our sister!" Emmie shouted above them, "Just seven weeks ago, she was brought to us all but a corpse. Today, she sits before us hale and whole!"

"The Scourge believed her band an easy mark!" Emmie said loudly, "But they soon learned their folly as they will when we march upon Icecrown Citadel! The Scourge shall not triumph! We shall not falter!"

Raucous cheers went up, Una cheering with them.

Their meal was served. Una happily dug into a bowl of warm, meaty chili all the while eyeing the cheesecake.

As their meal ended, Emmie got up to speak to someone and the blond ranger Emmie had called Helios made his way around the table and knelt beside her chair. She remembered him, vaguely. Her aunt had taken her to meet her fellow rangers back when she was young.

"Una Whitebrook, all grown up. The last time we met, you were a little girl." Helios smiled as he took her hand, "You are absolutely stunning." He brushed his lips against the back of her hand.

Flattered, Una giggled and blushed like she was a girl again.

"We should meet sometime… reminisce." He said in a purr, drawing a forefinger down the side of her hand, eliciting a shiver from the young woman.

"I'd be honored." Una replied coyly.

"And _we _are honored to have such an inspiring woman in our midst." The ranger said charmingly.

"Smooth, Helios." Another ranger a nearby table said loudly and with a laugh. A whistled catcall echoed the sentiment. Kaleril was smirking.

The waiter appeared with a knife and began to slice the cake. The blond winked suggestively as she was presented the first slice and returned to his seat.

Una took a bite and shut her eyes in ecstasy. It was delicious.

"So how's life at the academy? They must keep you locked up pretty tight…" Una asked Kaleril as he was served his slice. She hadn't seen her youngest cousin the entire time she had been here. He frequently wrote, but it wasn't quite the same. His letters had been much the same as what Anaru and she had shared during their youth, mostly small talk along with random anecdotes from their daily lives. It hadn't been until they reached adulthood that their letters had gained substance.

"Well enough, I suppose." The youth replied. He grimaced and looking nervously at her, Una wondered if he'd be amused if she told him he looked like a miniature Anaru. He had the face of a Whitebrook, his brown hair pulled back in a short, low ponytail and freckles scattered his cheeks and nose. However, he was slighter than his brothers though not as slight as his father. Sleek and lithe were the more appropriate words, where his brothers were solid and muscular.

Kaleril grated the tines of his fork against his slice of cake, gathering his thoughts. At last he spoke, his voice hesitant, intently studying her face. "… I decided… being a paladin isn't for me."

"Oh." Una replied, somewhat surprised. It seemed like becoming a Blood Knight was the fast track to the upper castes here while a Farstrider seemed the opposite. "Suppose that does put you back to square one with your classes. So what prompted this?"

"I think I'm more suited to life as a ranger." Kaleril answered hesitantly once more, as though frightened of gaining her disapproval. "Like mother…"

"I really hope this wasn't provoked by what happened to Walen and I." Una said hesitantly herself. She hadn't liked him last time she had seen him; he had seemed like a shallow, spoiled brat. This Kaleril sitting across from her was surprisingly sensitive and a little insecure. She could see how perhaps he'd found their injuries disturbing enough to walk away from his paladin training.

Kaleril looked alarmed, "No! It's not that." Like Anaru, he was taking his time thinking about what he would say, choosing his words. At last, he sighed, "I'm a terrible paladin… I – I felt strong at first, but then I just… couldn't keep up."

"There's no sin in that… I have no aptitude for ranger skills." Una replied with a knowing smile. "Don't _ever_ ask me to shoot; I think the farthest I ever managed to make an arrow fly was _maybe_ four feet…"

Kaleril laughed, seemingly put at ease.

"You're still young and it's never too late to change." Una told him. "You're allowed that much. Let me know if I can help you with anything."

"Don't tell father?" He asked, looking up at her like a scolded puppy.

"Honestly, little brother," Una startled and gazed at Walen in surprise as he spoke, "I don't think father would mind." The look on Kaleril's face said much the same as she was thinking. Seven weeks with barely a word and Walen had suddenly uttered a full sentence.

"Just… let me tell him?" The youngest Whitebrook brother persisted.

"I won't breathe a word." Una replied, drawing a finger across her lips.

"I won't either." Emmie declared in good humor as she sat back down, "Not sure what I'm vowing not to tell him, but you have my word."

Una looked to her younger cousins, "We're going to the baths after this, would you like to join us?"

"No, thank you. I should return to the academy." Kaleril responded. "I have a mountain of work…" The young elf's voice trailed off. "Eh, never mind. I'll join you."

"I'll go." Walen said simply.

The party soon started winding down. Una found herself the recipient of friendly kisses and hugs as the guests made their way to leave. She couldn't quite see why Uncle Nelaniu had been so concerned. She had been embraced here and it felt wonderful.

When they left, Silvermoon glittered with holiday decorations, enchanted lights sparkling all the way up to the tallest spires. Emmie had decided walking would be good exercise for Una and Walen. Soon, her heavy cloak started to feel too warm as her body warmed from the exertion. Her breath was visible as she panted; the temperature hadn't changed much since they'd arrived.

The baths proved to be only a few blocks away. From the ornate golden gate decorated with a phoenix and the guards in the full black and red Blood Knight livery, Una had a hunch this wasn't a public bath. Both snapped to attention and issued Emmie a crisp salute as they opened the gates.

Normally, one disrobed outside a Quel'dorei bathhouse; however, Emmie led them inside to a dressing area. Una felt her pulse quicken as she caught a glimpse of her scars in a mirror as she removed her shirt. The scar on her left side and breast was huge and twisting. Her ribs, collarbone, and the bones of her back were clearly visible in places where she hadn't been able to see them before. She'd seen it all before in her room, but in the bright light of the baths it was clearly and painfully obvious.

Emmie and Kaleril were watching her, their faces concerned. Walen's gaze was downcast; he would periodically rub the short hairs that had regrown over the preceding weeks. Without a word, he walked into the baths alone.

Emmie offered Una her arm and led her inside. She felt a blush cross her cheeks as eyes fell across the nude forms of the bathers.

Elves of both genders bathed and gossiped under the showers. The warm, moist air was almost too warm. Una's eyes traced the very male forms in both appreciation and embarrassment. She startled slightly as her gaze fell upon a red haired male and her gaze traced down his muscular to the very black curls. Una chided herself mentally for staring, but couldn't resist looking again.

A loud bang startled her. Kaleril cursed and ran to help his brother, who was attempting to haul a wooden bathing stool into the room. She could hear them talking, almost quarreling, though not quite what they said. The red haired man stepped over to take the stool from the young men. Kaleril pointed to her.

Her blush deepened as she inadvertently met the man's gaze as he deposited the stool. Walen and Kaleril chose to bathe a little bit down the line. She could hear the brothers talking quietly.

Squeezing her rebellious eyes shut, Una muttered her thanks and turned to investigate the shower controls. Moments later, deliciously warm water poured down upon her.

While Maggie, Basya, Rune, and her uncle's servants assisted her in cleansing herself, she couldn't remember the last time she had actually bathed. Probably before she left Stormwind on her ill-fated journey north. There was bathing and then there was bathing in a place that never ran out of hot water and had every possible soap imaginable.

"I'm… I must confess I'm surprised." Esmea stated, her nervous humor and bemused disbelief evident in her voice. "This isn't the behavior I was expecting from you after your reaction to…" Emmie paused and glanced around them with an evaluating gaze. She sighed and chose not to complete her sentence; they both knew who she was referring to. "Instead you're taking this more or less in stride."

"I wasn't the only high elf in Stormwind, you know." Una muttered, tipping her face into the falling water. Of course, they didn't have communal baths in Stormwind. That would have been far too controversial to be allowed to happen. However, Una wasn't ignorant of her people's ways.

"I am aware." Emmie replied, "But I couldn't be sure either. That _is_ why I brought you to the barrack's bath house."

Una nodded and turned to begin working the water through her hair. Her right leg wobbled, setting her off-balance momentarily.

Emmie's hand shot out to steady her, "Sit down! Please!"

"I'm fine!" Una protested, "It's just a little weakness. I lost muscle tone in that leg."

The Blood Knight sighed and pressed her fingertips to her brow, "If you insist. I worry enough without assistance!"

"You shouldn't, it isn't good for you." Una said, examining the bottles of soap provided. This was going to be the hard part. She had no idea what each bottle was for and her choices were overwhelming.

"Sit." Emmie repeated, this time in a more cheerful tone, seeming to have calmed down. "And I'll wash your hair."

Una obeyed, sitting upon the bathing stool. Washing each other's hair was a custom among her people, especially friends and family. Emmie selected one of the bottles and began to lather her hair. It was herbal with a hint of lemon, almost smelling astringent while not being unpleasant.

"We use this after we battle the Scourge," She told her quietly. Una nodded her understanding. "It cuts any grease and filth we might get on ourselves. It also removes other impurities from our hair."

Una gave another faint nod, enjoying the sensation of Emmie's strong fingers massaging the shampoo into her hair. Suddenly, Esmea stopped and patted her shoulder to get her attention.

Una looked up as two male Sin'dorei entered the baths, one a strawberry blond with well-defined muscles and the other even more solidly built and black haired. She felt her cheeks warm as she found her gaze once again dipping too low and averted her eyes back to the men's faces. She gasped as she realized the blond was Sergeant Emberblade. The black haired elf could be none other than Commander Orlinde. They paused to salute both of them, and the two elfin women returned it.

"It's so good to see you!" Una exclaimed, rising to embrace the healer. He looked tired and cold, but still the cheerful Sin'dorei she had met all those weeks ago. Red-blond stubble covered his jaw and he smelled of sweat and the road.

Rune patted her back with a cold hand and with a shiver said, "Likewise. Glad to see you up and about." He turned to gesture to the black haired Sin'dorei, "Una, might I introduce Commander Ashal Orlinde?"

"Lady." Commander Orlinde bowed his head briefly in greeting, touching his fingers to his forehead in salute. He too looked fatigued and ready for the hot shower they had come for. His face was slightly more bearded, as though he were deliberately attempting to grow it out.

Rune gestured to her, "Ashal, I present Lady Una Whitebrook."

"_Private_ Una Whitebrook." Una corrected as she snapped to salute. She needed him to think of her as a soldier first and foremost. She wanted him to know she would follow his orders. He was her only hope of rejoining her team and not being left behind yet again while those she loved fought and died on the front lines.

He returned her salute. A small smile spread across his tired face as he stepped around them to turn on the shower beside Emmie's.

Una busied herself rinsing the soap from her hair to spare herself from her awkwardness. She had just been introduced to her commanding officer completely nude and covered in soap. It was a silly thought; a very human thought. It wasn't out of the ordinary in High Elven culture. Far more important matters had been discussed in Quel'dorei bathhouses throughout her people's history. However, while she might not have been the only elf in Stormwind City and knew her people's culture, she couldn't help but feel a little mortified.

"How were the roads?" Emmie asked, gesturing for Una to sit. Una obeyed and the red haired woman began working a creamy lotion through her hair.

"Dreadful." Orlinde replied, his deep voice sounding almost bored as he began selecting his soaps. "Seems Northrend came to us for the Winter: Thick with Scourge and ass deep in snow."

"A taste of things to come, to be sure." Rune agreed tiredly.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'd like to thank pacificuser, Rooietroll, KooriRoninHeart, and Seleya Soulfire for your wonderful reviews!


	14. Chapter 14: Divergence

**Chapter 14 – Divergence**

* * *

**Dead Wind Pass, Eastern Kingdoms  
Seven Months Ago…**

Una screamed in fury, lashing her mace at the imps clawing at her leg plates. Their weight, however slight, put her aim off just enough to miss her intended targets. She blocked a fireball aimed at her face with her shield, even as another scorched her tabard.

The black skinned creatures lewdly taunted her in shrill, rapid voices. Some rained magic upon her as others clamored up her armor to attack. Starting to feel overwhelmed, Una summoned her holy shield, knocking the demons off her, and stumbled forward. She spun to face them as they came again. She whipped out, managing to catch a few but missing most. The paladin shrieked in frustration and stomped. Light flowed over the naked rock like water. The imps skipped backwards, away from the consecrated ground. A hail of fireballs singed her helmet and tabard.

The imps were in no way strong. What they lacked in strength, they made up for in numbers. If she could catch them, she could kill them. _If _being the operative word. Flighty, they kept dodging her attacks and outmaneuvering her at every turn.

Una cast a panicked glance at the men as they struggled with the dreadlord. The demon was massive, violet-skinned figure clad in dark armor, lashing out with razor sharp claws and spellwork alike. Hakander's noble face twisted in rage as he drew the demon's attacks, his teeth bared in a grimace. He thundered taunts in his native tongue, each blow of his hammer and vicious spiked shield resounding like peals of thunder. This bat-winged creature was no minor demon within the Legion, like the imps harrying her, but a leader among them. The dreadlord's eyes burned with both fel energy and rage, dark magic surging around him just as the Light surged around the paladins.

The already foul, dead air reeked of sulfur and brimstone from the portal they had just destroyed. Light flashed in staccato bursts, spell and sword indistinguishable from the silent lightning arcing in the clouds.

She started to cast a healing spell upon Hakander as a swarm of conjured locusts momentarily shrouded the towering paladin from view. A small burst of fire caught her in the face by chance, halting her cast.

Blinded and cursing violently, the High elf snarled and unleashed a storm of Light at the imps taunting her. From their screams, she knew she had caught several in her wrath. She chanted a quick healing spell and her vision cleared.

Despite the imp carcasses littering rocks around her, she saw no reduction in their numbers. One imp bounded over the fading pool of light surrounding her. She sprung to meet it, putting her weight into a swing that caught the leaping imp square in the back. Her mace collided with a satisfying crunch.

Black energy roared, channeling into Hakander. The Vindicator kept fighting, though it was clear he was in agony. Light jumped around him in a shield to lessen the damage even as Una hurriedly called upon her strongest magic to heal him and another to absorb the force of the demon's assault.

Hakander maneuvered the demon, slowly turning him further away from the group. Those locusts would only find him as a target, unless the dreadlord chose to turn his back to the enraged Draenei.

"Move! Move!" Anaru bellowed forcefully as a warning, his voice booming and snarling with the force of his yell, barely sounding like her cousin.

A fresh barrage of fireballs made her stumble and reel. The stench of her own burning hair overwhelmed her. A shiver of pain ran through her as a curse landed, but failed to stick. Her flesh tingled as though from a sunburn, but no further. The imps were moving to outflank her yet again. She took a quick step sideways.

Suddenly the ground vanished beneath her feet. Una shrieked in fear and surprise as she fell.

Her flailing hands caught the edge of a rock and the fall ceased. Her mace swung wildly on its wrist strap and struck her arm in a shock of pain. Her grip threatened to break as a corner of her shield grated on the rock.

Below her dangling feet water tumbled, crashed, and rushed between the jagged stones far below. Her armor had protected her from most of the assault; now its weight threatened to send her to her death.

Above, the imps cackled. They fell over each other to gaze over the edge at her. Several swiftly bounded away, only to reappear on rocks to the side and below.

"Help!" Una screeched. The imps guffawed, encouraged by her cries for help. Her gloved fingers were slipping. Fireballs and howling black magic pelted her from all sides. Una ducked her head, pressing her face into the rock and focused on holding on.

Gunshots exploded in her ears. Light washed down the rocks, crashing like ocean waves. Her grip nearly broke as an imp crashed down upon her helmet, another soon followed, careening down to splatter the rocks below in green ichor.

Large, firm hands closed around her forearms. Una looked up into Hakander's face, his expression still locked in a grimace. Sounds of battle echoed off the stones as he hauled her upwards, his rough hands grasping any firm hold on her he could find.

Moments later, she laid gasping and panting on the stones beside the bald paladin. Hakander collapsed backwards to lean against the solid rock behind them, panting as heavily as she was.

Empty black armor lay where the dreadlord had stood only moments before. The men now danced with the horrible little demons that had been tormenting her.

When they had dealt with the last of the imps, Anaru dropped to his knees beside her began checking her for injuries, his face pale and his lips mashed together tightly. Her cousin cast healing spells upon her, mending the worst of the mild burns and cooling the rest.

Satisfied she was fine; Anaru patted her back and began to check on the other men. She was grateful he didn't expect her to speak nor did he attempt to speak with her.

Una laid there, sucking in deep, greedy breaths of air as she began to shudder and quake from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She shrugged her shield off, untangled her wrist from her mace's strap, stripped her gloves off and savagely threw them away from her. She didn't even realize how furious she was at herself or ashamed until angry tears began to trickle down her face. She pressed her palms over her eyes.

"Typical woman." A gravelly voice commented quietly.

Una glared at the pair of unwelcome newcomers as they walked away, willing them both to shut up. They were humans, a father and son, both of sallow complexion and artificially blackened hair. The older male was missing an eye, a twisting scar peaking out from under a simple leather eye patch. The younger male was none other than one of the youths from the tavern she had dealt with not even a day ago. Armed to the teeth, Markus and Cole Donovan were what passed for demon hunters among humans.

That was what incensed Una the most. Cole, despite his youth, knew the supernatural dangers of Duskwood better than anyone; and, had likely had known exactly who they were and why they were in Darkshire in the first place. To have even considered hampering their mission was beyond her comprehension.

The elder Donovan had volunteered them both for the mission when the Night Watch had informed him of what his son and the youth's friends had done, much to Una's dismay. _"The Night Watch are a bunch of complacent fools," _Markus had said to Anaru and Hakander. _"Your folks are the only ones worth a damn."_

Una wished they hadn't come. If the humans had any degree of intelligence, they would remain _silent_.

"You only have to put up with them for a few more hours." Hakander remarked placidly, apparently guessing her train of thought. "You can last that long."

"If you insist…" She replied bitterly. It was true, after all. Never ones to turn down civilian or mercenary help; they weren't ones to travel at length with them either.

"If you insist." The bald paladin echoed slowly. It wasn't a question and he had understood her perfectly. Rather, it was a warning.

Una took steadying breaths. It was time, as Hiram would say, to pull herself up by the proverbial bootstraps. As her commanding officers, Hakander freely displayed his people's near-legendary patience and Anaru was notoriously tolerant. In other units, she wouldn't have garnered much sympathy. Una wasn't sure if that was to her benefit or fault, but she had a feeling she had just found Hakander's limit.

The Vindicator rose with a groan, "I'm going to feel this in the morning."

"I hear you there." Una agreed; her limbs were already feeling leaden from fatigue, she had no doubt would be feeling those imps and her near-fall from the cliff tomorrow.

Hakander leaned down and helped her to her feet. After collecting their things, they made their way over to the other men. No one was seriously hurt; all the injuries were minor and nothing any of them hadn't felt previously. A bit of magic and even those faded to memory.

The rest of their journey to the tower went without incident. As they rode down the final hill, the remains of a village spread out before them within a crumbling bailey. Behind the silent homes stood the blackened tower of Karazhan. A gang of crows took flight; the first living thing Una had seen other than vultures.

It was an awesome sight. Thirty years ago, Karazhan would have been even more breathtaking. The blackened stones had been the purest white once, built using the same pristine, white marble the architects and masons of Stormwind City had selected during reconstruction.

Una had always heard it referred to as a tower. However, now that she was gazing at the many wings and small towers, it seemed more a castle to her. Albeit possibly the tallest castle she had ever seen or heard of, rising to the unnaturally seething sky above. Though covered with a dull, greened patina, the copper domes would have gleamed as brilliantly as any Quel'dorei structure. Faintly glowing sections of stained glass, all in hues of carnelian stood out along the tower's glorious height.

Rumor had it that every ley line in Azeroth converged beneath this tower. If the young woman had ever doubted the validity of that rumor, she certainly didn't now.

She could feel energy upon the air, split somewhere between the arcane and elemental, so thick upon the air it was nearly palpable. Gooseflesh prickled her arms. The energy was unsettling and almost foul.

The energy escalated, grew, invisibly flowing out like a pressure wave and then drew inward sharply. For a moment, the young elf felt as though she stood on the cusp of a whirlpool, about to be dragged in at any moment. The sensation passed, but left her pulse elevated.

A glance at Anaru told her she wasn't the only one who had felt that. His strong face was taut and pale, beads of sweat visible upon his exposed skin as he trotted Jet forward to meet the violet robed members of the Kirin Tor who had appeared on the road before them. Her cousin was frightened and that concerned her greatly.

The men dismounted and Una did as well. They walked on foot the rest of the way through the silent village as Anaru and Hakander spoke quietly, but urgently with the archmages of the Violet Eye.

Vesper was handling the situation well, despite his behavior from the other night. The only thing different between the undead and demons they had encountered and the Riders from their first night, was the lack of that awful, macabre scream the rider's horses made. There was something about it her Charger just couldn't handle.

The undead were everywhere; of that, she was certain.

She stared at the vacant, silent homes as they passed, seeking the unliving presences she could feel so intensely. The houses were rotting where they stood; wasting away, just as structures reportedly did in the Plaguelands and other Scourge-infested areas.

What struck her the most was how quiet it was. It wasn't at all like the perfect, nigh magical stillness of a morning after a snowfall. This was an unnatural, threatening hush. It was as if sound couldn't travel through the air or perhaps was afraid to.

Disquieted, Una scanned the houses with renewed purpose. Her trained eyes noticed details and clues that brought her to one conclusion, only to have that conclusion contradicted mere feet away.

Candlelight shone through the broken panes of a window from a weathered chandelier hanging haphazardly from an equally weathered beam. Across the lane, in the bones of another house, a pot hung above the barren, cold fireplace, steam rising from it as though a meal were still cooking. Maddeningly, she caught glimpses of things out of the corner of her eye; mere impressions and suggestions of people and animals, though nothing was ever there when she looked straight on.

Then there were the crows. The birds had fallen silent yet again, but she could feel their intent, ebon-eyed gazes upon them.

"Shit!" Una hissed and startled as something stirred nearby. She stared into a man's face, drawn in a silent scream, empty, decayed holes where his eyes should be. And very much real. At her cry, the men pivoted and drew their weapons.

The lady paladin's eyes had fallen upon the partially decayed corpses of two human males, long dead, swaying lazily on aged nooses. Their faces locked in permanent grimaces with eyes picked clean by the gangs of crows observing from the trees and rocks above.

As Una calmed, professional curiosity overtook her and the elf suddenly forgot she should be disgusted. She couldn't tell how long the men had been dead and that bothered her at a level she couldn't quite explain. By the distinct lack of odor, it certainly could have been some time. Dried blood, untouched by the elements, still crusted the empty sockets and any visible wounds. All things that simply should not be.

Their hands were missing, Achilles tendons and hamstrings viciously slashed – "Thieves, perhaps." Her professional musings escaped her lips, startlingly loud in the deathly calm of the village.

Cole, bringing up the rear, made a loud noise of disgust, just noticing them himself.

"A woman shouldn't have such a fascination with death…" Markus muttered distastefully.

Counting to ten in an effort to control her temper, Una tore her gaze away from the grisly sight and cast her gaze at the roof of the towers. Seized by the notion she should cut the men down and grant them a proper burial, Una drew her dagger. No sooner than the thought crossed her mind, the blade not even free from its sheath, and a thrill of fear quelled the impulse.

"Fan out! Teams of two!" Anaru barked forcefully, "Look for any evidence of recent mounted activity."

Una jumped as a large hand cupped her elbow. She cast a gaze up at Hakander, who nodded down at her stolidly. He jerked his head in a direction to indicate she should follow.

"The Commander put you up to this?" Una asked lightly as they began to walk, though she was only partially joking and even then, it was with dark humor. Anaru was smothering her, acting ever more the overprotective, elder brother.

That earned her a raised eyebrow as a reply followed by an icy look. Una yielded, casting her gaze down at the ground.

"I am not from this planet..." Hakander said cautiously and at length, leading the way around a debris pile from a collapsed section of the tower. Above them, aged wooden beams protruded like exposed bone. "You lived nearby, yes? Tell me of this place."

Una bit her lip as she organized her thoughts, casting her gaze up the blackened stones, to the twisted boughs, and the warped stone overhead. Thirty years ago, when Duskwood had darkened, she had been a junior member of the city guard. She had had no reason to come out here, but other guards told her it had been lush and beautiful once.

Nevertheless, she did remember the stories emerging from Duskwood, nobles begging Stormwind City for assistance as strange things began to occur. Spiders grew ever larger, wolves became even more feral and emboldened, and then disappearances. However, the advance of the Orcish Horde was more urgent and dire than reports of any strangeness in the outlying provinces. If anyone had paid attention to the missing persons, they attributed it to the green-skinned invaders.

Hakander was taciturn during her briefing, his expression contemplative.

Adventurers had been here to plumb and pillage the tower; signs of their activity were everywhere, from empty vials and flasks smashed upon the rocks to refuse that littered the ground and tumbled in the breeze.

What little loose soil and mud they could find had been spoiled by the raiders comings and goings. Una was in no way a tracker, but she could count the foot and hoof prints of dozens of different species of mounts, at least.

She crouched beside the remains of a campsite and used a stick to sort through the burned litter within the remains of a campfire. Hakander stood over her, casting his gaze around in shared frustration.

"_When will the master return?"_ The young woman thought she distinctly heard a voice and it wasn't Hakander speaking and none of the others were close. The elf froze, straining all her senses, but could discern neither demon or undead. It was very close, yet distant at the same time. She couldn't tell if the speaker had been male or female, young or old.

"I think we should move on." The bald humanoid whispered, reaching down to pull her to her feet. Whatever it had been, he had heard it too.

The two paladins moved on around the tower, at times crossing over areas already searched in a vain attempt to find something overlooked. They regrouped in the courtyard and the others reported an equally fruitless, though unnerving, search. The darkened maw of the stable entrance lay unbarred, as though beckoning them within.

"This is where the demons bring them..." Markus stated softly, "Never to be seen again."

"If the victims are never seen again," Sergeant McCall said patiently, drawing on the logic she was coming to know the quiet man for. It wasn't that the human was timid or meek, he simply didn't often have anything to contribute; but, when he did, McCall spoke with admirable wisdom. "How do you know this is where they're brought?"

"I never said some don't get away." The one-eyed hunter said gruffly in response to the challenge. "Calor had a close call a few years back…" Markus pointed to the stables and spoke each word firmly, "Right there."

Una gazed into that ungodly doorway, black as pitch, awaiting them in complete silence. She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. There went her imagination again, turning this into something more than it was. Her band was strong, a mobile strike team who had faced many threats from the Legion and Scourge; and, regardless their faults, their guests were equally skilled. Whatever waited in that darkness was well within their means. She was the weakest link… Una shook her head again; she didn't have time or the luxury to nurse her insecurities.

She looked to Dutton expectantly. The other paladin would be assisting her in her healing duties. He nodded ascetically, his own eyes upon the darkened entryway. They lit the conjured lanterns the archmages provided and stepped into the gloom.

The stables were as quiet as the courtyard had been. That same ominous hush. Cobwebs hung from the aged beams and blackened stonework, devoid of even the spiders that had spun them. Elegantly carved sconces and braces in the shape of horse heads inlaid with red gemstones loomed overhead. Wrought lanterns, beautiful enough to grace the halls of a Quel'dorei noble hung from delicate chains. Yet, despite the thick coating of dust and cobwebs, the moldering straw underfoot, the sconces and lanterns blazed.

"_Who goes there?"_

Una froze and cast her gaze around warily. The disembodied voice, like the one outside, came distantly as though the words had to travel a great distance to reach their ears. Yet, it seemed as though it had come from just ahead.

"_Show yourself!" _A disembodied light, like that of the lanterns they carried, bobbed and swayed just head, moving as though carried. It floated past to pause, almost invisibly, in the entryway. _"Am I hearing things?"_

Una felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as she glimpsed the speaker. A bearded human male clad in what she presumed was dark leathers, peering past what could only be a lantern into the gloom. It floated near again.

"I say, good sir, has the master entertained any strange guests recently?" Anaru spoke, his voice tense to the point he was almost hoarse. No reply came. The ghostly light floated deeper into the stables and out of sight.

"It was worth a try." Her cousin said weakly with a shrug.

They pressed deeper, not even a breath stirring the flawless silence. Nothing living met their advance, not even so much as a rat or mouse.

From somewhere deeper echoed the sounds of blacksmith hammers and the glow of a forge permeated the still air. Anaru lead them towards the glow and into a blacksmithing area. The forge looked expertly maintained, the heat rippled out in visible waves. Yet there was no one there.

Hostile undead were nearby. Una could sense them and a fine tremble ran through her. The men were starting to put out their lanterns and Una did as well. It appeared they were unnecessary. As the flames went out, the magical lanterns shrunk until they were small enough to hang on their belts.

"Koren?" Anaru asked, his voice stronger than the first time he attempted to speak. Una followed his gaze and suddenly realized the vague outline of a burly human stood before the forge.

"_Aye?" _The ghostly blacksmith responded, _"You have something to do with the Violet Eye?"_

The hostile undead were moving ever closer. They had to be ready for attack. Una took an alarmed step and bumped into Hakander.

"Steady." The Vindicator's breath touched her ear. "Let them come to us."

"Aye, sir. I am Commander Whitebrook. Have there been any unusual guests about? Riders?" Anaru asked hurriedly.

"_Riders, eh? That damnable horse hasn't been around lately..." _Koren looked as though he was scratching his head thoughtfully.

"I'm seeking riders that passed through Darkshire…" Anaru ventured, muscles tense.

"Grand Hamlet!" Una corrected so hastily she nearly yelled.

After the darkening and the town's subsequent razing by the Orcish Horde, the returning villagers had rechristened the once idyllic, picturesque settlement _Darkshire_. She had no idea how long this spirit had been deceased, but the town's original name might be more recognizable.

"Pardon, riders that passed through Grand Hamlet a few nights ago." Anaru pressed on, accepting her correction.

"_Perhaps."_ The spirit replied, looking more indistinct. _"The master entertains many visitors from there. Many indeed." _The spirit was invisible now, his voice trailing off.

"Koren?" Anaru asked the empty space, "I truly would appreciate any information you might have."

"_Aye?" _The voice responded dutifully, seeming to come from a great distance away, _"You have something to do with the Violet Eye?"_

Anaru shut his eyes briefly in disappointment. In just the space between words, it seemed the ghost had forgotten them.

The hostile undead were close now. They ventured cautiously out of the smithy, attempting to circumnavigate through the stable in order to avoid unnecessary confrontation.

"There's no bodies…" Cole remarked in a whisper.

Una tensely glanced around her and realized it was the truth. There weren't even the remains of horses within the stalls. Ahead of the band of fighters loomed an ornate entryway, gilt with gold metalwork and framed by those same elegant, horse head columns.

A hostile bellow of alarm sounded, oddly echoing.

Divine magic exploded around her as the men reacted. Hakander roared and drew the incoming attack. Una gazed at the forms of semi-transparent spirits attempting to flank them. Steel clashed and gunfire resounded upon the stonework.

From behind, more shouts. A force struck Una in the back, sending her reeling forward to the floor. More apparitions poured from the stables, ghostly pitchforks and sledgehammers at the ready. She scrambled to her feet as the men moved instinctively to meet the attack.

These were not mindless undead as they had fought before, but the echoes of those who had lived during the most tumultuous of years. Commoners and nobles alike had fought the Orcish Horde; it was either fight or die. Those unable to fight, the young, old, and infirm, perished quickly if others did not rise to defend them. Even as the unliving stable hands fell, disembodied screams for reinforcements rang out.

In undeath, all they knew was those lessons gleaned from the First War. They didn't realize they had been dead for roughly thirty years. To the spirits, the beings they attacked were crimson eyed, green-skinned monsters laying siege to their home.

Steel and magic screamed on the air and a tide of guards descended upon them from the upper floors. A hail of fire and ice pelted them mercilessly. Markus and Cole redirected their gunfire to a ghost in violet garments. Grimly, Una understood the robed ghost was one of the missing Violet Eye investigators. Bullets screamed and twanged as they ricocheted off a magical barrier.

She called upon the Light to mend her wounds and then directed it to the men. Holy lightning surged around her cousin as he met their attacks. The paladins cast their power to the floor, washing across the dusty, gray stones like an ocean swell.

Then silence.

Aside from the disturbed dust, blood welling from wounds, and their ragged panting, nothing remained to indicate a battle had just occurred. Una and Dutton made the rounds, closing wounds and strengthening the men with beneficial spells.

"I… spoke too soon." Cole said in a sick, mechanical tone, pointing with a gloved hand to the floor before them.

Four skeletons were slumped against the columns, the bones darkened with age. Still clad in tarnished scale armor and skeletal hands clutching elegantly crafted weapons and shields even in death. The tower guardsmen had never left their posts, dying where they stood and guarding it even in death.

"By the Light…" Ellerton whispered, blanching.

Her cousin led them past the remains and up a grand staircase to the next floor. He paused in the doorway, as though taking it in. Then he suddenly leaned against a column, turning away from whatever spectacle waited above.

The older paladin's lips parted, his expression tense and complexion pallid. He was breathing hard, almost hyperventilating. She was but a few steps away and about to ask if he was well when she felt it too.

It was the same energy they felt outside, though more powerful and the taint far more discernible. Una's head spun and her lips tingled. She stumbled sideways and felt Dutton steady her. Her breathing quickened until she was breathing as hard as Anaru was. She placed a hand on her chest.

"Are they okay?" One of the men asked in concern.

Hakander had moved quickly to her cousin's side, steadying him as well.

"It passed," Anaru rasped, removing his helmet briefly to run a hand over his sweat dampened hair. Una was starting to feel better as well. "Whatever it was."

However, they both knew what it was. A potent combination of combat fatigue and befouled magical energy. Vile spells had been cast here and they had been caught twice now in some kind of magical aftershock. Fortunately, they seemed infrequent.

"Why didn't we feel it?" Cole asked, his youthful voice pitched aggressively.

"They're _elves_, boy." Markus growled. It was, after all, the exact reason why they had been sickened momentarily. More than likely, the humans had actually felt it as an inexplicable pressure or a sudden rush of anxiety.

Anaru glanced down at her in concern, his eyes asking the question he was restraining himself from asking aloud. Una nodded her reply. The young woman didn't have to tell him the sooner they left the better.

Satisfied she was well, Dutton brushed past her to climb the last stairs. No sooner than he reached the top and he exclaimed, "By the Light!"

Anaru and Hakander's faces were grim as they turned back to whatever awaited them. A sense of dread settled on the brown haired woman as she trudged up the last stairs, not entirely wishing to see what held their attention.

Spirits, countless in number, swirled across the floor in a grand ballroom in an endless waltz. Clad in bright silks and taffetas in styles that had been the height of fashion before the First War, they danced away as if they failed to realize they had been dead for over three decades.

A fantastically intricate, golden chandelier of Quel'dorei design presided over the unliving dancers, brilliantly lit with easily hundreds of candles. Even higher, tall columns with exquisitely carved basalt and gilt busts of great, black birds observed them with baleful crimson eyes. Massive, diaphanous cobwebs hung from them and clung to the forest green tapestries mounted upon the walls. Even higher, the hazy sunlight filtered through dusty, amber and carmine stained glass of a complex, geometric motif.

Over and over, they twirled and waltzed the same steps passing through and among each other, unaware of all around them. Caught in an infinite loop, the dancers reenacted what had been perhaps the last night of their mortal lives.

More importantly, they seemed unaware of the band of fighters standing nearby. As far as Una was concerned, they could remain so.

Despite the countless ghosts, there were few corpses. Skeletons dressed still in matching white and golden uniforms were slumped against the wall, servants who – like the guardsmen outside – had never left their posts. Worst of all, standing obliviously amid their own bones, were the ghosts of those servants. Transparent hands still bore tarnished gold trays upon which sat bottles of wine, crystalline wine flutes, and jarringly intact hors d'oeuvres. Fortunately, where they may have overlooked the transparent ghosts, the trays were solid and clearly marked their positions.

The dancers flickered and pulsed, pausing to applaud before they were suddenly dancing once again.

Markus stepped cautiously to a balcony, careful not to get too near any of the chairs or small tables set near it. "More below."

They moved cautiously, using their ability to sense the unliving to avoid confrontation with the dancers. They moved deliberately, at times backtracking, doing their best to avoid combat.

As they passed the balcony, Una glanced below at the revelers forever feasting and celebrating. The tables were still heavy with intact, fresh-looking food, despite the thick layer of dust coating the fine linen and silk table coverings. Her pulse quickened as she recognized some of the spirits as nobles reported missing. Worse still, were the shades of those she knew to be alive: Mayor Ebonlocke and his daughter, Watcher Ladimore, and members of the Carevin family.

Would they see themselves among the dancers? Would anyone returning see echoes of an Argent Dawn unit attempting to traverse this nightmarish party?

Their goal was almost at hand. A hallway, brightly lit and apparently devoid of undead and demonic entities. It would be a place to catch their breath. One last hurdle remained. Two slumped skeletons framed the arched passageway, both clad in armor. From their previous encounter, the specters of those guardsmen stood where they had fallen.

They crept ever closer and could sense them now. Una bit her lip, steeling herself against the inexorable tide of undead they would face when the apparitions roused.

A High Elven woman suddenly stood where no one had been previously, framed in the doorway. Incredibly, she was as solid as they were. Not undead, not a demon, a living woman. Impossible, but she was there. The elf was clad in a sheer, black gown, the fabric doing little to conceal what lay beneath. Torchlight glistened upon her skin, highlighting the areas her gown failed to hide and shrouding others just enough to intrigue. A pendant in the shape of a stylized eye was nestled between her breasts. The palest blond hair hung in a silver waterfall down her back. The elf seemed to speak to the unseen guardsmen and they vanished.

Almond eyes focused on them, the healthy crystalline blue of a High elf. She coyly drew the pendant's chain up into her mouth with a flawless, slender finger and beckoned to them.

It was a trap. Una glanced to the grim-faced men, who looked as though they shared her opinion. There were spells that could fool even the best paladin. If there was anything left of the Violet Eye investigator, she had likely just done her best to warn them.

However, hostile ghosts were coming along behind them, likely searching for the intruders. If they were to engage in combat here, they would likely alarm the throngs of ghostly revelers. If the battle in the stables was any indication, that could get bad in a hurry. However, what lay beyond that hallway was likely no better.

Anaru gazed between the elf woman and the throngs of spectral guests, his expression frustrated and torn. Disembodied voices escalated as the phantoms started to rouse. Audible words started to form, inquiring whether green-skinned brutes were on the tower's doorstep.

Anaru motioned vigorously, indicating they would take the hallway beyond. They moved quickly and with purpose, through the arched doorway. The elf woman stepped aside to allow them passage.

The voices faded away as they slipped into the brightly lit hallway.

"You come for the Riders?" The woman asked in a sultry, musical voice as they caught their breath.

"We do…" Anaru replied guardedly. "And you are?"

With his father a member of the Kirin Tor, her cousin was likely trying to identify the woman. Una knew from their discussion this morning that the violet city had lost many powerful mages to this horrible place during their investigations. Now Dalaran allowed only Archmagi and their most powerful apprentices to set foot near Karazhan.

The elf woman actually laughed at this, a light, ultra-feminine, and musical sound – completely discordant with the horrors they had seen.

"Oh, silly… you know me." The elf purred, stepping close to her cousin. "You mustn't be a stick in the mud like your father."

Convincingly, Anaru smiled lustfully and stroked the woman's cheek. "Oh, I assure you, I am nothing like my father."

The entity in the guise of an elf smiled in satisfaction. "Shall I… show you to your quarry then?" She leaned in close, "And perhaps once they have been dealt with, we will show you… our appreciation."

"And you would have our… utmost appreciation." Anaru replied smoothly. When he glanced up at them, there was steel in his eyes. _Be ready_, the expression warned. They were walking into a trap, but this was likely the guest quarters. The riders still could tire and it was the one valuable clue they had found. If any evidence existed within the tower, these rooms would be a good place to start.

The female led them into an elegantly decorated bedchamber, plush and with all the accoutrements a guest three decades ago could have wished for and more. Women, humans and elves, in equally suggestive clothing lounged artfully around the room, gazing at them hungrily. Piles of dark armor rested against a far wall.

A door in the back was half shut, but afforded them the briefest glimpses of pink-skinned, humanoid figures. Two of the figures entwined upon the mattress, moving in the telltale rhythms of love. Lusty, male laughter emerged from the room. It suggested humans, but it was too convenient, too predictable.

The false elf smiled secretively and placed a finger to her lips, pointing to the door.

Anaru gestured subtly, catching Una's attention. She looked up, meeting his gaze. Her cousin's eyes darted from Una to the door. The women's focus was on Hakander, praising his well-endowed physique, and their brief exchange went without notice.

Una used her size to slip through the group and to the door, maneuvering carefully to avoid detection while the females focused on the Vindicator. She was in no way stealthy, but her height allowed her to remain unseen behind the taller males. She crouched and peered into the room, pushing the door open just a bit further. Despite the glimpses and sounds as they entered, there seemed to be _nothing_ in the other room.

However, a growing demonic and unliving presence was in the room they were in right now.

The women growled suddenly, a feral sound coming deep from their throats. While her exchange with Anaru and her movement through the tightly packed troop had gone unnoticed, her peek through the door didn't.

The High Elf hissed and darted for her with unnatural swiftness, her manicured nails suddenly talons. Una snapped her shield up just in time for the claws to grate shrilly over the surface and then ducked to the side to avoid another swipe.

With feral screams, the other women attacked. The mouths filled with suddenly pointed teeth, claws slashing and raking.

Una ducked and bobbed as the claws sought her blood. Off balance and her back against the wall, the paladin couldn't rise without leaving an opening. She blocked and parried, each movement awkward. Scarlet eyes the same color as fresh blood – redder than Tallak's had shone when they had faced the demon – stared into her own.

Una heard Anaru cry her name. Golden wings of pure energy arced from Anaru's back and a divine storm rose around him. His magic licked and bit at her attacker, his sword parting cloth and flesh. The silver haired elf abandoned Una and spun to face Anaru.

"Join us!" She cried so shrilly Una's ears throbbed with pain. "Join us!" Each time she repeated the words, it grew ever shriller. Suddenly her cousin wasn't facing a High elf, but a banshee. Una shouted in alarm, putting all her might into an exorcism spell. They needed their senses and their magic. They needed to deal with the banshee swiftly before she screamed and incapacitated them. The phantasmal elf only managed a gasp as the holy energy tore her gossamer form apart.

Una was trying to look everywhere at once; trying to determine who needed her spells more. Her world dissolved into both chaos and focus. She chose her spells near instinctively, attempting to anticipate who would need her most.

A dark skinned beauty of a human suddenly was a succubus. The she-demon spun, putting her cloven hoof into Markus's midsection. Cole leaped forward in defense of his father, brandishing twin trench knives. With a grace contradicting his clumsy teenage form, he dodged, slashed, and stabbed. The demoness countered easily, laughing with glee.

One by one, the human and elfin guises gave until they were surrounded by female demons and undead. All screaming shrilly, cajoling to them with promises of untold sexual delights.

What had been a stunning red haired human was now a swiftly shambling, dead creature barely resembling a humanoid. One putrid hand attempted to close around Ellerton's throat as rotted teeth in a huge, gaping maw came within inches of his face. McCall's shield struck with a ringing impact, nearly removing the dead thing's arm. Ellerton brought his sword up, viciously slicing through the moldering gown and rotted flesh from navel to crown.

Hakander roared like a wild beast, cleaving through the undead and demons alike. His teeth bared and silver eyes wide with rage. The Light filled him, arcing around him like electricity, tearing at any foe that dared get too close.

Cole screamed and backpedaled, clutching his face. Una caught him by the shoulders and guided him to her, channeling a healing spell into the five diagonal slices across his face. The wounds closed and the youth shouted in fury, lunging in with renewed fervor. Markus was back on his feet, joining his son in the melee.

Bellowing shouts. The guards had returned from wherever the banshee had sent them.

The band of fighters slowly maneuvered until they were in the empty room, forcing the incoming undead and demons into a funnel. They could only come at them from one direction. However, the tight confines also made fighting more difficult.

Una backed up until she was near the bed, glancing behind her to make sure she didn't back into it and fall. Her emerald eyes fell upon two skeletons entwined upon the mattress, forever lying in a lover's embrace. A rusted dagger rested within the stomach of one, a bottle of poison still clutched in the boney hand of the other.

Blanching, the High Elf redirected her attention back to her team. Slowly, the tide of unliving and demonic forces waned, faltered, and finally ceased.

Gasping and panting, the men staggered back as they fought to catch their breaths.

Cole backed up until he was beside her, bent over as he gasped, coughed, and choked. Covered in foul smelling fel blood, the younger Donovan had likely never fought this hard. He muttered that he felt unwell, squatted beside the bed, and vomited.

Silence returned, heavy and ominous. The dark forces at play were returning, undiminished. A trap. They had blundered into a trap. Just as the Death Knights had nearly lured her into a trap back at the farm. Lured so expertly and they had come running like good, little toy soldiers.

And then, a music box. The mechanical notes plucking ever so hesitantly at first, like an inexperienced lover, but gaining speed with each passing second. Faster and faster it played, taunting them with a mockery of a classic Quel'dorei folk song.

There was an explosive crash. Something was breaking through the door.

Una snapped her eyes open, staring at a familiar, darkened ceiling. Then the young paladin sighed in relief. She was in her bed at her Uncle's estate. It had all been a dream. No, more like a nightmare reliving her unit's foray into Karazhan, but still just a dream.

Then her blood turned to ice in her veins as she became aware of a sound that should not be in her room. The melody of the music box continued unabated; an eerie, half-echoing sound within the stillness. The mechanical notes came from everywhere but nowhere at once. Something skittered and she froze.

Cloth snagged and the mattress sagged as something climbed the side of the bed. The realization came too slow. Now something was on the bed. On her bed.

Una's hand snapped out to slap the crystal that controlled the light. Her eyes fell upon the startled form of a young, longhaired cat at the foot of her bed. Not quite comprehending, she stared at the pale animal who stared back with squinted eyes as green as her own. At its tufted feet lay a string of pearls.

Pearls? Understanding came abruptly. Una rose up slightly and spotted her jewelry box on the carpet next to her vanity. The cat had probably knocked it off while playing on her vanity. Falling back, Una clapped a hand to her chest and tried to will her racing heart to slow.

The young elf woman sighed again in relief and exasperation as the cat let out a feline chirp and trotted up the bed to greet her. Despite her irritation, Una scratched the animal's head when it came within reach. The cat, a white female her Uncle called _Pixie_, let out a loud, open-mouthed purr that soon threatened to drown out the melody.

"Pixie, you are one damned lucky cat." Una told the animal shakily. She knew veterans who you simply did not approach while they were sleeping, as they tended to become violent when startled from slumber. Hiram had conditioned her to freeze and determine where she was and what was occurring before she took action.

With a moan, Una climbed out of bed to take care of her now-damaged jewelry box. She had purchased it only a couple days ago and it was frustrating to see how easily it had broken. The lid hung from one intact hinge and the tiny mirror inside the lid was cracked. The music box within seemed damaged as well and wouldn't shut off. It didn't matter. After a dream like that, there was no way she'd be able to rest and the clockwork would run down long before then. Dawn couldn't be that far away anyway.

Her rehabilitation didn't officially begin until after the first of the year, but she was growing impatient. Una's mind had been tested as much as her body. As crazy as it sounded, the young woman was certain active duty would be better for her mind and body than this. As terrifying as Karazhan had been, at least she was able to fight the threats there. Here, she had no enemy she could see and certainly none she could combat.

That day in the baths, at her inquiry Commander Orlinde had recommended she start with meditation, followed by stretching and balance exercises, and finally walking. If she had energy after that, he suggested she work on her footwork.

She knew herself well enough to know mediation was impossible and it was still too dark to go for a walk, so she began on her stretching, balance, and footwork exercises.

She was partway through her exercises when there was a soft rap on the door. Before she could move, it creaked open. "Lady Whitebrook?" Commander Orlinde's voice inquired from the darkened hallway.

"I'm fine, Commander." Una replied as the Blood Knight stepped into her room. It would be a lie to say she wasn't physically attracted to him. She couldn't help but admire his muscular physique only somewhat obscured by his black silken sleep pants or the robe that covered his torso. The robe gaped open as he shut the door, briefly affording her a view of his chest and stomach muscles. The dark haired Sin'dorei had also shaved, his stubble beard now neatly groomed into a goatee that accentuated his firm jaw line. He moved with a catlike grace that belied his muscular frame.

"An early riser, I see." The Blood Elf said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. "We shall need to adjust."

"Not deliberately." Una shrugged and then added as an explanation, "Nightmares."

Orlinde nodded his understanding and then said, "Soon enough you shall be too tired for them."

"I would worry if I wasn't." The High Elf agreed and a thought entered her mind. The Blood Knights' farriers had returned Vesper just recently. She knew she probably couldn't hope for a ride, but she yearned to get out and move. "Would… we be able to go do something?"

"_Something_?" The commander echoed in a bored tone that he seemed to resort to often, "Would you… care to elaborate?" The Blood Elf tended to guard his emotions well and it was difficult for Una to gauge how he was taking her words. Orlinde tended to be stiff, but polite.

"A ride? A hike?" Una suggested, "I'm sick to death of these four walls!"

He raised an eyebrow at that admission. "It's the middle of the night. This is for later, I presume?"

"Once we have the sun." The brown haired woman replied hurriedly. Una bit her lip in embarrassment, she had no idea of the time and she hadn't thought to look at a clock either. She's assumed it had to be near dawn, it felt like it should be, anyway. She added, "I have a party to get ready for."

"Very well." Commander Orlinde gave a slight bow. "I shall come for you in the morning." He slipped out the door and quietly closed it behind him.

Still unsettled by her dream, Una only managed to doze lightly and only while petting her Uncle's cat. Karazhan and the Death Knights plagued her thoughts. They had fought their way deep into the tower, higher and higher until it seemed reality itself shattered. To no avail. If the Black Riders were based in the tower, they were careful to leave little evidence. They had found signs of the Violet Eye's futile investigations at nearly every turn, including the spirits of lost mages forever sifting through gargantuan libraries for spells and arcane lore.

It gave the young woman no comfort to realize they would face all that and more in Northrend and _she would not be ready_.

At last, the paladin rose, dressed, and curled up on the window seat to read. It was the best distraction she had found over the preceding weeks. The sun rose and Commander Orlinde failed to come as promised. The morning seemed to wear on indefinitely, though she knew the day was still young.

Una was starting to grow cross when Uncle Eilonel's butler, Authion, rapped his knuckles against the door jam. "Pardon the interruption, Lady Una, but a letter just arrived for you."

"Thank you, Authion." Una said as she accepted the letter from the older elf. It was probably another invitation. Walen had gleefully told her "better you than me" when the first arrived. Apparently, despite being a Quel'dorei, as Eilonel Whitebrook's niece she rated some level of interest.

"Has Commander Orlinde gotten up yet?" The brown haired woman asked, attempting to avoid taking her irritation out on the elf before her. Authion wasn't just a servant, but maybe her Uncle's closest – and most genuine – friend. He had been very kind to her during her recovery, even during her worst days.

"He just returned and is refreshing himself before your outing." The servant answered politely. "Is there something you require of him?"

"No, no, I was just curious. Thank you again." Una replied, giving him a smile of gratitude. The news confused her. Where had the other paladin gone so early?

"Of course, my lady." He bowed and shut the door behind him.

Una frowned at the letter. It didn't look – and certainly didn't smell – like it an invitation or a letter from her parents. It smelled fetid and moldy, whereas the invites she had received were fragrantly perfumed.

The parchment wasn't what she was accustomed to either. Anaru's stationary generally bore the crest of the Argent Dawn on the wax seal on simple, unscented parchment. Hiram's too, was always simple with a generic dwarven seal. Formal invites and official documents from Alliance or Argent Dawn officials came on higher grades of parchment.

The olive colored wax bore a strange mark she hadn't seen before: a skeletal stag. Aside from her name and address, there were no marks on the envelope. She broke the wax and skimmed the letter.

What met her eyes made no sense. Bizarre ranting with lucid, though paranoid statements thrown in at seemingly random intervals. Something about Winterveil, her Great Aunt Nariel, her parents, and the dead having no place among the living. The strange, looping half-calligraphic, half-scribbled style made the strange letter even harder to read.

It went on into a discourse about hubris and dead that didn't know they still walked the land of the living. _Look for me_, the final sentence urged. Then the letter ended abruptly. No signature, no closure. It merely stopped with that final, vexing sentence. Una shook her head in disbelief, twirling an errant lock of her brown hair around her finger. Someone had a lot of gall to pull a stunt like this. If it was a prank and not something more sinister.

The paladin muttered, unpleasantly reminded of her nightmare. Movers were starting to carry boxes into the Commander's rooms across the hall. He had spent the last few days here, but had finally made arrangements to move in fully. She eyed the hallway. She might as well make use of her bodyguard.

She raised her voice and called, "Commander Orlinde?"

From the hall, she heard a muffled sound of acknowledgement from the other paladin.

With a sigh of frustration, Una rose and deposited the letter onto the table near the fireplace. She never thought she'd say it, but she was sick of mail. Though, now she could gleefully throw the letters away herself instead of waiting until Authion or one of the maids came to check on her. She eyed the fireplace and realized with an uncharacteristic level of dark glee that she could walk them to the fire now and _burn_ them.

Her uncle's estate was a flurry of activity this morning. Not only was Commander Ashal Orlinde in the process of moving his belongings into the room across the hall, but they were decorating for the forthcoming Winterveil parties. Servants buzzed about the courtyard, preparing it to serve as an outdoor party area, complete with festive Winterveil trees.

She returned to the window seat, looking out over the courtyard as she absently petted Pixie. They were in the process of hoisting evergreen garlands high into the air now, already glittering with enchantments that made them sparkle with tiny golden lights. Every column had ribbons of a brilliant, cheery red tied about them and an equally red carpet trimmed with white spread across the pavers.

"So much for being able to train outside." She told the animal as it climbed into her lap and settled down. _The dead has no place among the living. _Una shuddered. Were they referring to her?

Another rap on the jam. Una looked up as Commander Orlinde stepped into the room, followed by Walen. Both males were dressed in simple riding clothes, their faces flushed from exertion. She resisted the urge to ask where they had been. Most likely answer was that Walen was helping his rescuer move in.

"You called, Lady Whitebrook?" Commander Orlinde inquired in his customary cool tone, though he sounded slightly out of breath.

Una gently ushered the cat from her lap and retrieved the letter from the table. Orlinde accepted the foul smelling parchment and quickly skimmed words written upon it. Walen read it himself over the Knight's arm.

"I got one too." Walen commented when he finished and Orlinde made a deep, thoughtful sound in his throat. The dark haired elf stepped over to the window with the parchment, apparently rereading it. "I thought maybe someone was… well, you know. Father's been working with the Sunreavers after all."

Una rubbed her eyes as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. Walen especially seemed to forget she didn't grow up within Quel'thalas and thus had little knowledge of prominent families and organizations. Whatever these Sunreavers were, it probably meant Uncle Eilonel had made enemies.

"Sunreavers?" Una asked, hoping for clarification.

"The Sunreavers are a Sin'dorei organization that is lobbying the Kirin Tor to admit our magi." Orlinde explained, "But I do not think this is connected."

While helpful, it didn't totally explain why her Uncle would be involved.

As she understood it, Eilonel had never lost his membership or withdrawn from the Kirin Tor. Una shook her head at herself as possible scenarios played out in her head. Likely, the explanations for his choices were simple. Her Uncle had given her absolutely no cause to doubt his words or actions.

Una chose to focus on the issue at hand, "So what is it then?"

"I don't know. But I will find out." Orlinde casually patted the letter against his palm as if to emphasize before tucking it into his belt. He looked to Walen, "Retrieve yours and see if your brother received one as well."

As Walen complied, the Commander looked to her once again, "Our outing shall need to be short. Go prepare your horse. I will be down momentarily."

It was all Una could do not to whoop with joy; instead, she gave him an enthusiastic salute and hurried downstairs to get Vesper.

It was a brisk morning; chilly dew still clung to the verdant blades of grass, though sunlight streamed through the forever golden leaves of the maples above. The rolling, tree filled pasture was filled Quel'dorei horses placidly grazing and a few hawkstriders sunning themselves and preening their vivid plumage. Anaru had mentioned, all those months ago, that he had been breeding Ethos. Jet and Vesper had been among the first of the resulting offspring. However, there were too many horses in that pasture to be anything but a breeding operation. Some of the animals were obviously yearlings.

Her curiosity piqued, Una decided she'd ask her cousin what he was doing here when he arrived.

The tidy, but rugged stables were a welcome change from Una's gilded cage. The earthy aromas of fresh hay and straw were pleasant after so much perfume and even the less than pleasant smells were an odd, but welcome relief.

Vesper neighed as she approached, his ears pricked forward. With a grin, Una pulled a lead rope from a hook on a column as she passed.

"Hello, handsome," Una greeted, rubbing the animal's velvety muzzle. "I bet you want to get out of here." As she attached the lead rope to his halter, the flea-bitten gray shivered in what Una hoped was excitement.

"Going for a ride, Lady Una?" A stable hand asked.

"Yes, and Commander Orlinde too." She answered as she led her horse from his stall.

"Very well." He replied, leading the way to the tack room where the other stable hands awaited.

Taking the opportunity to take a good look at her horse, Una dropped the rope and walked around him. The Sin'dorei had taken good care of him; Vesper had never looked healthier or better groomed. A stable hand lightly tossed the saddle onto Vesper's back and Una went about fastening and tightening the cinches. Her pulse quickened at the very thought of some physical activity.

The servants brought a dark bay mare around, already saddled in elegantly tooled black leather for Commander Orlinde.

Orlinde reappeared as she finished, a hammer was casually resting over one shoulder and a large great sword strapped to his back. He had taken the time to strap a leather breastplate to his broad chest over his simple riding clothes.

"For the duration you are in Quel'thalas, this is your weapon." Commander Orlinde said without preamble. Hefting and spinning the handle between his hands as though he were checking its balance, he added. "It belonged to one of the first female paladins. She granted it to me when I lost my weapon during the Third War; now it is yours." He thrust it out to her.

Una took it and immediately grimaced as her arms took the hammer's full weight. While designed for a woman, the hammer was no less heavy. However, her muscles would become used to practicing with a larger, heavier weapon. In the long run it was probably better for her.

It was a simple hammer, devoid of nearly all decoration save for the mark of the Silver Hand on one side and the Holy Light on the other of the head. The handle was the perfect diameter to fit her hands, the grip wrapped in supple leather and verdant silk.

"Thank you, Sir." She issued him a salute and, to her embarrassment, nearly dropped the hammer.

Orlinde sighed expressively in the first true show of emotion she had seen in him, "This… is going to be interesting."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks to beachedsam, KooriRoninheart, pacificuser, Rooietroll, Seleya Soulfire for your reviews! You guys are awesome! Thanks so much!

Thanks again to KooriRoninHeart for being my beta reader and sounding board for this. Love you, Sis!


	15. Chapter 15: Missteps

**Chapter 15 – Missteps**

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"That is quite the tale, Ashal." The one-eyed knight leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. "Death Knights in Quel'thalas."

Silence and a palpable darkness settled over the men, despite the brightness cast by the sun.

Ashal Orlinde nodded solemnly as he stroked his newly regrown goatee, "And all quite true."

It was a warm day in Silvermoon City, the spring sun gleaming from the gold and crimson inlays and frescos. However, in that moment, they all seemed to dull before his eyes. The warmth leeched away by the very mention of the Scourge.

Northrend never seemed as close as it did at this moment. Weeks had passed into months and winter passed into spring. More weeks would pass before they began their journey south to meet up with the Argent Crusade's primary forces for deployment and even longer before they arrived on the distant shores of Northrend. However, their time was fast approaching.

The last, unpredictable detail lay in the sea ice still blocking the shipping lanes. The winter had been hard and the ice was thick surrounding Northrend; the scouts were saying there were vast swaths where one could walk across the sea. It could easily be summer before the shipping lanes finally cleared.

Nevertheless, the Alliance was nothing if doggedly single-minded. They had been testing massive, armored ships for much of the spring, breaking their way through what sea ice they could find in international waters. It was an impressive show, to be sure, but the true challenge lay far in the seas around Northrend. The ice fields were infamous for either crushing or entrapping ships no matter how large or well armored.

The Horde was finally mobilizing as well. New, stronger zeppelins were being constructed and prepared for war. While zeppelins weren't hampered by sea ice the way ships were, they would struggle against gale-force winds and thick ice that would coat every inch of the vessel. The first zeppelins had already made landfall and were establishing forward bases.

Curiously, Quel'thalas, already burdened with the weight of civil war and forced, abrupt change, had pledged itself to the war effort. It was a complete reversal of the sentiment expressed not even a few weeks ago. Sin'dorei adventurers and individuals had been free to do as they chose, as they always were, but the country itself had said it couldn't offer much beyond basic support.

Yet, inexplicably, there was now going to be a full mobilization. Despite Ash's personal desire to make Arthas pay, even he knew it was folly for Quel'thalas to join the war in the arctic.

"What of the Knights of the Ebon Blade?" The elder knight beside him didn't move as he spoke, his expression guarded and remaining eye half-lidded. "Have they offered an explanation of this incident?"

"Only that they are addicted to inflicting pain, to deny that is to reduce themselves to little more than mindless Scourge… as we experienced firsthand." Ashal said, feeling as disturbed as he had all those weeks ago.

The long dead human had stood before the front gate of the Whitebrook estate, screaming incoherently about Andris Whitebrook and vengeance. Rotted beyond recognition, the knight had been all but a skeleton bearing the colors of the Ebon Blade.

Talaerion Sunward leaned forward and skimmed the letters once more, as if seeking the answers Ash couldn't give him. "If what you say is true, this… Knight didn't have the presence of mind to compose these manifestos."

"I agree." Ash fought a shudder as it threatened to race unchecked through his muscular frame. "He did, however, have enough mind left to summon an army of the dead."

Anaru had gone outside and tried to reason with the Ebon Knight. Una's cousin had arrived wearing somber gray and gold military finery and the tabard of the Argent Crusade. It should have communicated that he was an ally. It instead backfired and whipped the skeletal knight into a hysterical frenzy.

There was no calming him. All reason had long since fled, leaving only bloodlust. He impotently howled and railed outside the gates until he was incomprehensible. The wards visibly glowed, but held firm.

It was at that moment the wards mysteriously failed, the dome of violet magic exploding into sparkling dust. There had been no time for proper weapons or armor. The moment the spell failed the crazed human had fallen upon them, an army of death appearing at his beckon call.

Those who could fight had raced outside in what had seemed like a futile attempt to stem the tide of ravening ghouls. Every elf in Quel'thalas knew all too well that anyone who fell would only add the Death Knight's lethal arsenal. Most guests had only magic as a means to defend themselves, aside from a few like Anaru and himself who had worn dress swords.

At their darkest moment, rescue had come in the form of a full squad of Ebon Blade knights. However, relief soon turned to horror when they realized the identity of the leader of their saviors: Andris Whitebrook's brother, Lorandil. Lorandil, who had perished to the frigid wastes with many of Kael'thas' ill-fated entourage, stood before them in all his macabre, unliving glory.

A hand fell upon his shoulder.

Ashal glanced at the warlock sharing the table, mildly surprised at the contact. His elder brother, Tanithal, solemnly met his eyes despite his level of intoxication. His brother had insisted on attending this meeting.

The contact continued for several heartbeats too long for Ash and he brushed the offending hand from his shoulder.

Tanithal settled back in his chair and returned to his drink.

Ash supposed it was a misplaced sense of protectiveness that Tanithal couldn't quite admit to. They hadn't been close as children, but since the Third War, his brother had become infuriatingly clingy. They lived as antipodes, their chosen paths so far apart they might as well be from other worlds. He would be content if they went their separate ways.

Pushing his thoughts back to the task at hand, Ash ventured, "Since you traveled with Lord Whitebrook far longer than Anaru or myself – I was hoping you might have some ideas."

The paladin was careful to use Andris' proper title and discuss him in only the most respectful terms. Talaerion was his superior in both rank and class; and, had remained close friends with his former mentor after his apprenticeship ended. Already irritated enough by being forced to dine with a warlock; Talaerion was dangerously close to leaving. Ash couldn't risk further angering him. Walen needed a proper master – one who was actually going to train him – and Sunward was conveniently free at the moment.

"Lord Whitebrook meted out justice for centuries before you even existed, Ashal. To say our mentor had enemies is an understatement. Most anyone with access to the Undercity could have composed these." The disfigured Blood Knight said evenly.

The knight curled a corner of his upper lip into a hideous grimace. A scar lifted Talaerion's mouth and nose into a permanent snarl, granting him a horrible, fearsome countenance. That look upon his face, actually one of frustration, intensified that effect. The elder knight had never bothered to heal the scars or replace his lost eye, though it lay well within his means. He glanced up, "How many were lost?"

"No one important." The warlock across the table said dismissively as he casually shook off the succubus fawning over him.

Ash momentarily cradled his face and cursed. Talaerion's passionate disdain for the arcane was near legendary; only their usefulness to Quel'thalas held his tongue in check. Warlocks, useful or not, he only marginally tolerated. Ash drained his brandy and had their waiter fetch an entire bottle for him. The dark haired paladin had a feeling he'd need the liquid fortitude.

The warlock had lapsed into an abstruse, slurred recount of the deceased, all deserving of their fate in his opinion. The sentiments weren't new; he had heard other family members speak of others with the same level of contempt before.

Growing up, Tanithal had been the favored child; the one Ash had always found himself measured against. Even as a child, the elder Orlinde possessed an effortless charm and a keen intellect. Handsome by their peoples' standards, the sorcerer was neither too muscular nor too lean with an angular face framed by a luxurious mane of ebon hair.

Everything about him radiated elegance and immaculate perfection; everything Ashal was not.

The sorcerer had a notorious bravado to go with his looks, which only grew the more intoxicated he became. During the ill-fortuned Winterveil party, he had regaled revelers with tales of his exploits for hours.

Una Whitebrook, in her refreshingly candid manner, had asked Ash in private if his brother was a popinjay or maybe a dilettante. She soon discovered another fondness of his brother: vexing members of the Order.

Whereas Una tended to eventually retreat, Talaerion roused to violence. Tanithal was well on his way to accomplishing that and Ash was determined not to be sober when it happened.

"Did Magister Whitebrook ever uncover why his wards failed?" The elder paladin grit out, tearing his livid gaze from the warlock.

"Sabotage." Ash replied, "And the perpetrator or perpetrators remains both a mystery and at large."

"Too hastily erected and not enough safeguards." Tanithal offered in mock helpfulness, "I would have placed a… going away present at the source. Nothing forbidden, of course."

Ash cradled his face in his palm once again and took a large sip, the welcome warmth radiating through him. He didn't know what insanity prompted him to even mention this meeting to his brother, much less allow Tanithal to accompany him.

"What do you make of the boy?" The younger Orlinde blurted to change the subject before the men – himself included – came to blows.

Una and Walen Whitebrook stood at attention not far, at the base of the plaza where they dined. A test, ordered by Talaerion himself, to gauge their discipline and stamina.

Una's experience as a guard was evident by her posture and even, alert gaze fixed upon a point before her. The slightest droop to the brunette elf's shoulders signaled fatigue, but she remained solid and emotionless.

Walen was struggling to match Una's poise, though he evidently refused to be outdone. He shifted ever so slight from foot to foot as his feet tired, his face breaking into random emotions from a scowl to wetting his lips.

"Impatient and requiring discipline," Talaerion remarked sharply, his temper not even slightly lessened. "Not uncommon for his age." He rose from the table and strode across the small plaza. Una snapped to a crisp salute and Walen quickly followed suit. Her salute was clearly the one favored by the humans, but that was to be expected.

The disfigured knight circled them, scrutinizing every facet of the younger paladins. He had served as a military discipline instructor before the wars, turning raw recruits into expert soldiers before becoming a paladin and then an adventurer.

Once again, Una's training was plain when she didn't even flinch under the elder's inspection. Her gaze remained fixed upon the point she had chosen. He spoke to her quietly, only her crisp and prompt "No, Sir" hinting to his question.

Walen, however, was anxious and barely held his ground as Talaerion turned to him. Ash could empathize; he had been on the receiving end of a dressing down from the senior paladin more than once.

"Stand at ease." The scarred Sin'dorei ordered mildly.

Una, familiar with military drill, instantly stepped out into what Ashal recognized as the relaxed stance of the Lordaeron infantry – and likely Stormwind City's as well. Feet shoulder width apart, hands folded behind her back, posture still fixed. It wasn't the correct stance observed in Quel'thalas, but few civilians would recognize that and they were the only military present at this time of day.

He silently circled them, his one-eyed gaze continuing to evaluate Walen. The youth was terrified, gulping as the elder knight came close once more.

Without a word, the elder Sin'dorei abruptly went about correcting Una's stance until she stood in the proper _at-ease_ stance of the Blood Knights. He then led the younger elves into the correct salute and back to attention.

With a nod, the knight returned to his seat. "Typical of his age and level of training. She, however, is everything I would expect from Stormwind City's finest. Though I am curious, foreign drill is involved in most career military instruction and yet she was ignorant."

"The explanation is that she wasn't career military until her enlistment and she was only active for six months before her injury." Ashal replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Truly?" Talaerion raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised.

"Yes, the little Alliance cow –" Tanithal said loudly. Ash had little doubt she had heard him, though she was showing admirable self-control. His brother could uncover insecurities and sensitive subjects with astounding speed and Una had a sizeable number.

Ash raised his voice above the insult, "Volunteer, civilian peacekeeper. Due to heavy casualties, Lady Prestor admitted her and those like her into the guard to bolster their numbers."

Tanithal raised his voice even louder as he finished, "— cried and opted to play with her dolls instead."

"I presume her superiors felt she was most effective maintaining the home front." Ashal was tiring of this charade in a hurry. He felt like he was a child once more, trying to get a word around his brother.

"It's a wonder the Old Horde didn't string her up by her tits." Tanithal postulated, interrupting Ash as he tried to explain her lack of wartime experience. The warlock held his glass up to the sunlight in a mock salute. Ash wasn't sure just who he was saluting.

"However, her dossier states she was involved in regular patrols and volunteered to guard Stormwind City's prison for its most violent and dangerous offenders despite having little formal training." Ash added hurriedly while his brother was taking another large sip, "At great personal risk she conducted an in-depth investigation —"

"While managing to be worthless to her own nation – impressive…" His brother once again spoke loudly.

Ashal braced himself, fearing that comment above all else would strike a nerve in his charge. Talaerion looked ready to silence the warlock himself for that matter. However, it was Walen who bellowed, "She isn't worthless!"

"Well played." Talaerion mumbled grudgingly and drunken amusement played upon the warlock's face once again.

Ash gazed down at the shapely young woman, her gaze remaining unbroken and devoid of expression. Perhaps Una was aware that Walen had been his brother's target all along or maybe he simply wasn't giving her enough credit.

"After what she's been through, you have no right to attack her, coward!" Walen shouted to the drunken warlock who merely laughed. "You wouldn't have survived what she has!"

Walen started to stalk towards them. It was then Una finally broke her stance to restrain her cousin, muttering firmly yet quietly to him.

"Initiate Whitebrook!" Talaerion barked in a manner far separated from his norm; his voice suddenly harsh and uncharacteristically deep for an elf. It was a voice of a man who had broken lesser men. "Control yourself!"

There was no further words to the statement, though "or else" was strongly implied by virtue of the senior paladin's history. His brand of discipline made Ashal's punishments of chores like scrubbing latrines pale in comparison. Talaerion had, on occasion, disciplined insubordination with a thorough beating.

Walen immediately quieted and stood at attention once again, utterly petrified and awestruck simultaneously.

Una looked over her shoulder at them, her gaze locked on Ash's own. _"Are you sure about this?" _Her expression asked soundlessly.

The exchange didn't go without notice. Talaerion beckoned with the fingers of his left hand to summon her. Ash stiffened. She strode forward, that concerned expression gone as quickly as it came.

"Private Whitebrook, Commander Orlinde says you were not career military before joining our Argent brothers. I must confess… curiosity." The maimed paladin said placidly after they exchanged salutes. It wasn't the topic Ash was expecting. "You have permission to speak freely." He added.

"I was just a guard. Never active service." She said guardedly. "I fought, sure…"

"But you were purely at service in the home front." Talaerion finished for her and leaned back in his chair comfortably. "Would it be fair to assume your position was a civilian peacekeeper until not long ago?"

"Yes, Sir." She visibly tensed before she answered, but held herself firm. She hadn't lied, but she probably felt as though she had.

Talaerion stroked his upper lip thoughtfully, "I presume you assisted in the refugee caravan after the sacking of Stormwind, then? Or were you among those evacuated?"

"Evacuated… but I was good at herding cats, I guess." Una's answer was simple and succinct. Ash loved her candor. She spoke Thalassian fluently, but her obvious southern accent with a hint of Dwarven clearly marked her as a foreigner. Ash found it refreshing and intriguing. After a moment she continued, "I wanted to help. But they sent me with the refugees."

The senior paladin chuckled, "That is a commendable trait. It is little wonder you were chosen by our Argent brothers."

"Thank you, Sir." Una said graciously. After a moment, the young woman asked in her customary, half-whispering tone, "What about Walen?"

"I will take him as my apprentice." Talaerion answered without hesitation. "First, I would like to see how he fares against an experienced opponent in unarmed combat."

Una visibly tensed once again, but otherwise held the rest of her emotions in check. Unarmed fighting was still a weakness.

Not all that long ago, she had come to the Argent Dawn barely a blooded knight. Only a few skirmishes on the streets of Stormwind and happenstance encounters with her drunkard of a mentor had served to hone her skills in battle prior to the Argent Dawn.

It was a fault Ash had hoped to fix, but the Blood Knights' preferred unarmed styles often went against the Code she held so dear. The Code was a crippling limitation of more traditional paladins; an affliction the Blood Knights of Quel'thalas had eliminated.

Una had pushed back quite angrily at first; but he had eventually won her over enough to accept further combat training. The younger paladin clung to the Code only because it was all she knew.

The Code was constructed by mere mortals. The Light didn't recognize service to a specific ruler, cause, or faction. The Light didn't actually care if she tossed sand in her foe's eyes nor did it care if she delivered a well-timed kick to a spell-caster.

She was an intelligent and capable woman; Ash knew she would come to realize the truth on her own eventually.

Ash caught her eyes and nodded evenly, silently urging her to calm. He allowed himself to smile fondly.

Tanithal remained silent until she had walked away, but only that long. "I saw that, brother."

"She merely required reassurance." Ashal replied, "Her confidence is lacking, as you plainly observed. You saw _nothing_."

Talaerion made a hideous grimace and said, "I'm loathe agreeing with a _warlock_… but you clearly fancy her."

Refusing them the satisfaction of an answer, he directed his attention down the plaza to watch the two junior paladins. Una circled Walen swiftly, lithely testing him with a series of attacks. Ash grinned, knowing Walen couldn't match her raw speed and agility. He would tire before he caught her.

Walen, however, wasn't chasing her. He was moving purposefully and allowed her the first attack. His emerald eyes watched his elder cousin's every move with a calculating expression beyond his years. Ash concluded he must have received at least some instruction in Outland, though how much he couldn't be sure.

Despite Una's claims of clumsiness, the young Quel'dorei was aware of her surroundings and of nearly every move Walen made. As her cousin grew emboldened, so too did she. Una began to toy with him, luring him into patterns and rhythms.

Walen attempted to seize her in a grappling hold. The Initiate had to bend lower than he was used to and went off-balance. An instant later, Una pivoted and threw Walen over her hip.

Each step highlighted the weeks of improvement Una had put in since New Years. Her frame, emaciated from disease and wasted from inactivity, had filled out once again. Her movements only highlighted soft curves and returned musculature of her trim physique.

"When did he last lay with a woman?" Tanithal ventured with a smirk, waving a servant over to pour him another glass of wine. "I don't remember when he was not bedding males…"

"Or being bedded…" Talaerion chuckled wryly, extending his own wine glass to the servant.

"Here I thought it was cock he craved. Evidently my dear brother has decided to dip into fairer waters." The warlock chortled at his own joke, "Or possibly he's tired of being the fairer waters?"

"If that_ is_ the case, perhaps he should turn the other cheek." The disfigured paladin said mildly, giving Ash a broader grin than he thought possible with his scarring.

"Oh, I'm sure he does with _regularity_." His brother said smoothly. Tanithal then gasped in mock astonishment, "Wait! We're thinking too conservatively! No doubt he has already had her in a crowded bed…" The rest of the statement was lost behind a cackle.

"Not yet. In due time." Ash stated hoarsely, well aware his face was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. As much as the older men disliked each other, they were certainly finding common ground. There was little doubt Una could hear some of this. If she had even a shred of Andris' blood in her veins, she would most certainly delight in setting him squirming later.

The mental image of Una and Rune in the same bed arose unbidden, their nude bodies flushed and beckoning…

Both men roared with laughter.

His brother wheezed around laughs, "I do hope she prefers being on top, our dear Ashal wouldn't know what to do if he…" While the bubbly laughter made the rest unintelligible, Ash could make a confident, but educated guess as to what he said.

"She_ is_ a Whitebrook." Talaerion said easily, "Be there a male in that family that isn't fond of endangering life and limb with every fuck – I've yet to meet him."

"Still, he suddenly desires a _woman_! Though I suppose this _is_ my brother after all – if it has a pulse, he is good to go." Tanithal finally recovered, his voice watery and hoarse from laughter and wine. "Simply ask Emberblade in regards to the goat."

Ash's vision literally turned red. How dare that pompous wretch!

Before Tanithal knew what was happening, Ash was already out of his seat and his fist hammered his brother's skull. Emerald flames erupted around them as the drunken warlock retaliated. Fury literally burned within his fel green eyes.

Flames licked his arms as his fists found his brother's face again and again. A burning hand clasped the side of his face. Ash jerked away and continued pummeling him with his fists. An arcane torrent lashed Ashal and his brother bucked him off. It was the warlock's turn to lash out with fists that burned with demonic fire.

Ash slammed his knee into Tanithal's groin. The warlock bellowed with rage and pain, ceasing his spellcasting to grasp his crotch.

He vaguely heard Una cry out his name as Walen and Talaerion began pulling them further from each other.

Ash seized Walen's outstretched arm and flung the youth out of his way. His eyes were on his gasping brother, struggling to his own feet in Talaerion's grasp, dark power already coalescing around his hands.

Talaerion shouted in Old Common. A spell. A flash of light blinded him. A deafening peal shook him to his core. A fist connected solidly with his jaw.

He recovered and found himself staring into the face of a livid, brunette woman. Ash wondered for a moment where Esmea had come from before he registered it was Una. Her face freckles stood out even more vividly than usual as her face flushed with anger.

He started to move forward, determined to continue what he started. Tanithal was helpless, robbed of his magic by whatever spellcasting the senior paladin had done. Walen and Una blocked his way, shoving him away from his intended victim. Ash attempted first to maneuver and then force his way through. Together, the younger paladins were a solid wall. He couldn't get a grip on either to cast them from his path without the other countering.

With a spiteful mutter, Ash took several steps backwards. Una glared at him for several long minutes with half-lidded eyes and her mouth screwed up into a determined scowl.

A frustratingly short distance away, Talaerion forced Tanithal to sit upon the ground and began examining him.

Walen petulantly stepped around him in the direction of the overturned table and chairs. Una stood where she could watch everyone, her stance relaxed yet ready. She finally snarled through her nose and inspected the half-moon shaped gouges her nails had dug into her palm. With a casual motion, she wasted a bit of mana to repair the tiny wounds.

Una realized he was watching her and met his gaze with the coldest expression he'd ever seen upon her.

"Sit." She growled unsympathetically and shoved him towards a chair Walen had just righted. "Just what the hell was that about?"

Ash shook his head and, to his irritation, Una huffed indignantly.

She busied herself with cooling his burns and mending the split flesh and darkening bruises. "I swear I don't know what's stupider: drunken fighting or fighting a drunken warlock…" She muttered crossly under her breath, pressing a hand to his ribs. Pain flared at her touch. Una growled and channeled a spell to mend the injury, "Emmie is going to _love_ this! When you're sober…"

"I am not drunk, Private." Ashal growled sternly to interrupt her.

"Okay, then… what was that about me and a goat?" Una asked pertly. As he had guessed, she had heard every word and was now ready to set him squirming.

Ash's brother let fly yet another crazy, drunken guffaw. Talaerion braced himself to place most of his weight across the warlock, forcing him to stay still.

"Well, perhaps I did have a few too many…" Ash said quickly. She wouldn't believe him if he told her the truth anyway. "Nothing of consequence... Just a brotherly spat – you wouldn't understand." He stressed the final three words. An only child, Una never had to contend with situations like this.

The young woman stopped, took a step backwards, and stared at him in disbelief. Her mouth opened and shut several times, though not a word emerged from her lips.

"You know what: just forget it." Una snapped at last, her hands held up as though surrendering.

"Private! That is enough." Ash lowered his voice to a menacing tone, stressing each word as he spoke for emphasis.

Una raised and lowered her eyebrows once, her lips tightly closed. Ash had a feeling he knew what the look meant; Anaru had made one like it frequently enough. Those two were closer than many siblings.

"Indeed. Am I dismissed, Commander?" She said quietly.

"Dismissed." He agreed, giving her a curt salute.

Una returned it, her expression still cold and her voice even colder as she said, "Walen, would you please escort me to the baths?"

The youth was all too quick to comply, though not without shooting him a scathing look.

Ash glared at their retreating forms. He lowered his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Talaerion gathered his things, paid for his meal, and strode away without a single word. From Tanithal, there was no word either. Having been thoroughly healed, the drunken warlock had fallen asleep upon the warm pavers, his succubus curled up against him.

The inn's staff began cautiously making their way around to clean up the aftermath of the fight. Enchanted brooms bobbed past, sweeping up the remains of the plates, wine glasses, and his brandy snifter. Only his bottle of brandy had survived the fight and it lay before him, the amber liquid within scattering golden light across the stained tablecloth.

An arcane guardian passed, warbling banal messages of generic encouragement from the Regent Lord. The golem was completely oblivious to the warlock sleeping off his drink; such was a common sight across the city – though not normally in such an open and public area.

Ash slammed his fist down upon the table as hard as he could, livid with himself. A public fistfight in broad daylight and he was already on probation. It was only by sheer coincidence this hadn't ended very badly.

The staff was still casting furtive glances at the retreating construct, but none attempted to summon it. If they had known…

"I am an idiot." The words spilled like an avalanche from his lips.

"What did you do this time?" It was both an aggravation and a relief to hear Rune's placid, reproachful voice. Ash reached for the flask, intending to take a long swig to bolster himself for the tongue-lashing he was about to receive.

The bottle suddenly lifted away from his grasp and his friend swirled it appraisingly. There was a great deal less brandy in the container than he remembered.

"You've had enough." The blond paladin said sternly. He was dressed casually, ready to enjoy this warm, spring day. Yet another item to add to the growing list of things he had ruined.

"I'm not drunk." Ash grumbled, standing to take it from Rune as the healer took a swig himself. He stumbled into the table, sending the feet grating harshly against the pavers.

"Of course you're not." Rune said with a deadpan expression, corking the flask and moving around to help him rise. He wrapped an arm around him and asked, "To the barracks?"

"Is Una there?" He blurted, wanting nothing more than to avoid the freckled young woman.

"No… Though she mentioned in passing I might find you here. Why would she?" Rune asked as he paused to toss a few gold coins upon the abused and battered table.

"I've ruined everything."

"No, you're drunk and melodramatic." Rune muttered spitefully to him, tightening his grip around Ash's waist and they began to walk. "My apologies for the mess…" The blond knight said earnestly to the innkeeper as they passed.

Ash hung his head. Even with their history, Rune simply couldn't understand. The healer was welcomed wherever he went. Ash was forever inferior and unwanted, never quite good enough to please those around him. He was sick of it.

The way Una smiled, her open and guileless demeanor, the way she wore her imperfections on her sleeve – he could simply exist around her. He'd ruined all that in one moment of drunken stupidity.

"The only woman in years to so much as look at me… and what do I do?" Ash said forlornly, "Cast her away!"

"Yes, it's doubtless the maiden assumed the absolute worst and has run off into the high hills wailing in anguish." Rune then snorted, pausing mid-step to readjust his grip.

"Of course she would!" Ash tried to fight Rune's grip, but the former priest was far stronger than he used to be. "Just as Tanithal wished!"

"Shocking, don't you think?" Rune replied sardonically, "Your brother has always been such a kindly soul."

Though he still walked a razors edge between priest and paladin, Rune was no longer the frail novice he had once been. That elf was long dead, faded away to nothingness following the slaughter of Northshire Abbey and then the destruction of the Sunwell.

As the healer grew in strength, Ash was fading – returning to the hollow wretch Andris had plucked from the filth of the Undercity. All his mentor had done was erect a façade and make him palatable. It had all been for naught, everyone knew who and what he was. Forever punished for something not his fault, his guilt proven through the alibi.

While the guards opened the barracks gates, Rune muttered under his breath about warning Una. The stairs soon loomed before them and the blond paladin growled as they began upwards.

Ash collapsed gratefully upon Rune's small couch the moment they entered his quarters.

He threw his hands up, "I tell her: _Nothing of consequence_, after I fight my own brother before her eyes! Couldn't tell her the truth that it was my first, clumsy fuck and that a goat didn't particip… partici…" He stumbled over the words, his lips and tongue not cooperating with him, "Wasn't involved!"

He could hear Rune moving about in the back half of his quarters, "Naturally, my brother insists otherwise!"

Rune spoke loudly and sarcastically from wherever he was, but it was muffled and the brandy made it difficult to understand.

"What am I to do?" Ash called to him.

"You are going to drink. Water. In terms of liters." Rune said firmly and closer than Ash was expecting. Ash looked over his shoulder to see a water goblet and a glass carafe at eye level. "I don't have time to neither coddle you nor concoct a half dozen "remedies" for dehydration."

"By the Sunwell, Rune, you are simple!" He sat up and turned to face the healer. "My brother always sees to –"

An explosion of cold water struck him full in the face.

"Forever playing the victim..." Rune said darkly as the black haired knight sputtered and coughed, "You're a joke!"

"She will never accept me now!"

"Grow up! She is not Anaru with tits." Rune interrupted sharply, "And, she made it abundantly clear at Winterveil she doesn't care for your brother."

"Since when has _that_ mattered?" Ash realized too late that the water carafe was one of Tanithal's early experiments with enchantment. The vessel always refilled itself, no matter how much water was consumed. Rune launched another surge of water.

"Stop!" The dark haired knight roared, wiping his face off. Blessed Ancestors, he was sick and tired of being trifled with! First his brother and now Rune! His eyes landed on the carafe and he lunged.

Rune dodged with a laugh, swiftly rounding the room. Ash stumbled over a pouf, narrowly missing a side table as he went down. When he recovered, he didn't see what his friend had done with the vessel.

Ash snarled, attempting to cut Rune off as he dashed between furniture.

"Poor Ashal… damp, angry, and aroused." Rune cackled and backpedaled away from him.

The drunken paladin could readily admit to the first two observations, but it took a quick glance at his pants to confirm the third. He managed to confound himself from time to time; why couldn't he be at least _normal_?

Rune paused to lean on a table while he laughed. Ash used his momentary distraction to close distance. The blond noticed and quickly met his charge. They grappled, neither gaining nor losing ground.

It was aggravating. Once again, the memory of the slender, androgynous priest arose to taunt him. Thirty years ago, the other was but a genderless youth easily controlled by his larger, more muscular frame. Today, Rune controlled the situation with superlative ease.

Rune's leg suddenly hooked his own legs and Ash crashed to the floor. His chin slammed upon the floorboards and the air fled his lungs. The former priest straddled and sat upon him. Ash could feel Rune's own hardness pressing against his back.

Rune laid forward until his lips brushed his neck. "I see how you look at her," He whispered. "How you obsess over her. What do you prefer now?" He leaned further forward to drag his teeth over the flesh warmed by his breath.

Ash bucked him off easily. Rune rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. It took Ash a moment longer, giving the blond time to put distance and obstacles between them.

"I prefer a warm hole, and you, my friend, have two." Ash said with a wicked grin. "And what of you?"

Rune took that moment to charge, attempting to catch him in a takedown. The healer caught his arms, twisting as his foot once again hooked around his leg. Ash grit his teeth and managed to maintain his position. For a moment, at least. Rune let himself fall, taking him with him.

To Ash's great irritation, Rune laid atop him once more. The cock grinding against his hip was dewy and leaking even through the layers of cloth shrouding it from view. A wicked grin lit the former priest's features, "I am nothing if an opportunistic bastard."

To that, the black haired elf could attest. Rune had an easy, casual way with both genders that had seldom left him wanting.

Ash bucked and rolled, attempting to dislodge the fellow knight lying across him. He managed to find leverage with one leg and he pushed with all his might. He felt Rune's weight shift. Though slight, it was in his favor. He jerked, pushing Rune as he did and suddenly he was free.

The pale elf rolled away with a laugh, enjoying their little game. Ash growled, scrambled to his feet and tackled him. They slid and tumbled until they crashed into the foot of Rune's bed. He finally managed to get Rune under him.

Rune thrashed and fought, but Ash was determined not to give up his precious win. He slid forward, pinning the flailing, grasping hands to the floor. The other elf cursed and growled in determination, refusing to give in. Ash growled himself, leaned forward, and sank his teeth into the cloth-covered shoulder. He released and bit again, higher and then again.

He had to slide further to put himself at a better angle as his mouth went ever higher. It was finally his lips, rather than his teeth, that found the blond's neck. Rune shuddered and then finally released a lustful moan. He suckled, lapped, and nibbled at the soft flesh at the nape of his neck, tasting the salt skin and relishing in his conquest.

This was why he loved bedding males. The danger and conquest of forcing another to submit… and of submitting himself.

"Enough! You win!" Rune wheezed from beneath him and bucked slightly, "I need to breathe!"

Ash rolled off but not without smacking the blond's ass twice as the healer pushed himself to his hands and knees. He glanced at the other paladin's dresser, unsurprised to see leather restraints and other paraphernalia strewn across the top. Rune had definitely not been lonesome these past weeks.

"I shall feel this in the morning, to be sure." Rune groaned as he dragged himself up the footboard. He looked back at him, nodded to the mattress, and purred suggestively, "Shall we?"

"We shall." The black haired knight agreed, palming two restraints. He wasn't ready to give up his victory. Not yet.

With a smirk, Rune turned to face the mattress and slowly stripped off his sweaty shirt. The flesh was still tantalizingly pale, but powerful muscles rippled beneath the pale skin. The hips could no longer be mistaken for the hips of a girl, but were still pleasantly narrow.

Ash strode forward, tucking the restraints into his waistband, grasping those hips between his hands and drawing Rune back to him. He kissed the nape of his neck and strode forward until the paler elf had to lean upon the bed. One hand coaxed his pants open and slid beneath the fabric to stroke the heated flesh through his underwear.

Rune abruptly turned from his ministrations.

His lips found Ash's own, sucking his kiss. Pain stung as their lips and tongues dueled and mated like tigers. Biting, sucking, tangling, tasting. Their hands grasped each other with enough force to bruise, pulling each other ever tighter.

Ash's teeth caught the blond's tongue, holding him firmly to his mouth. The faint taste of copper mingled with flavors of the kiss. Only when Rune made a faint gagging noise did he release him.

"Bastard." Rune rasped, pressing the back of one hand to his bruised mouth.

"You were the one who wanted to kiss." Ash reminded him, "I wanted to pet."

Rune turned and crawled over the edge of the bed. "Then why don't you suck? Since you seem to be orally fixated tonight."

"Turn over and I shall." Ash growled. He had dropped the restraints during their kiss and couldn't see where they had fallen. No matter. Rune had more.

"You need to be more… flexible." Rune purred from the bed, taunting him.

Ash leaned over him to kiss the blond's neck, putting his healing power into a massage as he did. With a grateful moan, Rune grasped the sides of the mattress to brace himself as Ash put his weight into each stroke. He lavished attention upon the pale form beneath him, as he always did, working the day's stresses from his friend's muscles. In turn, Ash felt some of his own tension fall away as he worked.

The bed frame was ornate, the sides shaped like the elegant branches of the trees outside. Rune had chosen it purely because he enjoyed binding his partners during sex. Each elegant arch and swirl provided ample places to accept a restraint.

Rune turned over and stretched with a lustful sigh. Ash ground his hardness into him as he bent over him, firmly running his hands up the blond's arms to massage. The leather straps slipped into place without a sound.

Rune remained oblivious until Ash tightened the restraints. With a shout, he attempted to lurch upright. The entire bed jumped with the force of his jerk. "You son of a bitch!"

"Now, now, Runean." Ash grinned, "You were the one who left his toys out."

The blond silently fumed as Ashal began to sort through the sex toys strewn about the top of his dresser.

There were glass probes of varying sizes, some nearly a perfect anatomical sculpture of a penis and others topped with bulbous projections. There were delicate beaded rings, oils, and feathers. Everything that appealed to Rune's sexual appetite.

He should have, at the very least, found them amusing. It should have given him ideas on how to torment the blond paladin until he howled his passions for all of Silvermoon to hear.

Now, he wasn't sure what he wanted.

A loud noise startled him. An insistent pounding upon Rune's door. A voice barked, "Sergeant Emberblade!"

It took him longer than he would have liked to figure out how to free Rune from the restraints. The pounding grew more insistent as he fumbled with the leathers.

Rune always composed himself so quickly. With a practiced gesture, he had closed his pants and was magically erasing any sign that moments prior he had been bound to his bed or engaged in rough foreplay.

Ash sat on the edge of the bed and willed himself to invisibility. It wasn't that he wasn't permitted in the barracks anymore. He was ready to be done with this damned city and his accursed brother. The dark haired paladin hung his head and admitted silently: He was ready to leave all his old temptations behind before they drowned him. He was down to mere weeks until these fools could no longer command him to their every whim.

The dark haired Sin'dorei flopped backwards and pulled the satin sheets over his head. The muffled voices were infuriating. So close, he had been _so close_.

"Commander!" Rune barked.

The use of his title and the tone of Rune's voice immediately brought Ash out of bed and to his feet.

Framed within the threshold stood a nervous-looking messenger in the colors of the Argent Crusade, flanked by two elite guardsmen. Ash exchanged salutes with the young human.

The messenger stated without preamble, "Commander Orlinde, I bring word from Highlord Fordring himself. Scouts report the shipping lanes to Valgarde have been cleared."

"When?" Rune blurted.

"Blessed ancestors…" Ash breathed simultaneously.

The ice was clear… now? It had been a hard winter; the ice couldn't have broken so soon – it was impossible! Even the seas north of Quel'danas were still in the grip of the unnaturally harsh winter.

No, the lanes _had been cleared_. It could only mean the Alliance icebreakers were a complete success. His head swam. What had been weeks to prepare now counted in days – hours, actually.

"Three days ago, Sir." The young human replied dutifully, "Highlord Fordring hopes to deploy the first battalion within the next two weeks."

"Commander, I also bring additional orders from the Highlord." The human offered a scroll bearing the signet of the Lord-Paladin. "Report to Menethil Harbor as soon as you are able."

Ashal nodded mechanically as he accepted the document, "Understood."

He exchanged salutes once more and the messenger set off, guards in tow, to notify Una as well.

Ash retreated back within and numbly sat on the edge of the bed. Rune leaned heavily against the wall, his head resting on his outstretched arm and watched him.

He broke the wax and skimmed the parchment. None of the orders within were unexpected. Ash had discussed everything within and more months ago, when he had met Highlord Fordring at Light's Hope Chapel. They had given them enough notice they could ride, rather than seek transport from a mage. It would be a long, hard trek but they would arrive within the timeframe the Highlord hoped to achieve.

They would be among the first to cross the frozen continent, face the Scourge, and attempt to find a way into Icecrown. Possibly even confront the Lich King himself.

Darkness and cold settled upon him once again.

The bed sank as Rune settled upon the mattress too. The other paladin's arms enwrapped him from behind, his warm body warding off only some of the cold.

Ash's thoughts were turmoil as he reached up to clasp one of Rune's arms.

He didn't worry for Rune; the healer's transformation from frail priest to robust paladin was long complete. The healer had walked the frozen north as a missionary. He, above all others, knew what to expect and would serve as their guide as they progressed north.

He didn't worry about himself. Andris had believed in the value of asceticism and Ash had not been exempt.

Una, so weak not all that long ago, would soon walk the frozen wastes. She had never fought in a war. She had never gone without. She had never had to survive in hostile lands.

She had been a peacekeeper, protecting civilian interests and among the first evacuated when the Horde advanced into Elwynn Forest. While she had suffered every bit as much as the rest of their people, she had not faced war and the Scourge in the way most Sin'dorei had.

They had gone hiking, of course, to build her strength and acclimate her to carrying heavy gear in cold conditions. The mountains just north of the Amani lands had been ideal: of both the cold and danger. However, no simple mountain hike could simulate conditions in Northrend. The Scourge aside, they would face the harshest terrain and conditions on Azeroth, as well as any other threat Northrend saw fit to throw at them.

Her grandfather and Lady Calanthe, whose hammer Una now carried, had fallen before Arthas' relentless march to the Sunwell. Lord Uther and Gavinrad had been slain near the city of Andorhal along with countless others. Seasoned warriors cut down as though they were nothing and the Quel'dorei people all but exterminated.

The first time Una had faced Scourge, it had nearly killed her. Ash had stood guard as Rune stabilized her, staring down a pitiful creature so deathly pale and still she might as well have been a corpse.

Arthas would do all that and more. He would tear her asunder. Under his control, she would slaughter her loved ones and destroy all she held dear. Her mind and soul trapped in eternal torment and damnation; aware of everything she inflicted in the name of the Lich King.

Rune rested his forehead against his back. Ash squeezed his arms.

"We should rest," Rune whispered into his back. "Tomorrow will be difficult."

The healer leaned back and Ash allowed him to draw him back until they lay upon the mattress. Ash was never the type to cuddle, but tonight he simply couldn't muster the will to fight Rune.

It wasn't terribly late; they had time to begin preparations. He couldn't sit still, nor was he steady on his feet. He sighed heavily. Through the open door, he could see Rune's carafe resting on a small table. How had he missed it sitting there?

"We knew it was coming." Rune told him as Ash pulled away, rose, and went to pour himself a glass of water. "It's never as bad as you imagine."

"No, it's always much worse." Ash replied after his first, long sip.

Rune groaned, "Spare the histrionics, Ash, and come to bed."

Ash didn't move, instead choosing to pour himself another glass. To lay back down enticed him to think… to settle deeper into morbid visions, each worse than the next.

"Did you fret this intensely with me?" Rune asked blandly, neither annoyed nor amused. "With Calanthe? Máradion?"

Ash stiffened and sat down the glass, his stomach rising into his throat.

"Did you underestimate us as much as you are her? Fixate so utterly?" Rune said tensely, on the verge of anger without entirely giving over to it. Then he laughed darkly, "I don't know why I keep trying to get through to you. Too much drink and you either fight all night or weep to the unfairness of life…"

Ash shut his eyes, lifted the goblet, but placed it back upon the table. He would become angry at Rune, if the blond elf weren't perhaps the only true friend he had. His words were brutal, but truthful.

"Come to bed." Rune urged. The sheets rustled and the bed creaked as the blond rose, followed by the quiet pad of each step as he crossed the floor to him. Then his warm arms wrapped around him.

Ash obeyed, but his thoughts remained in turmoil. Even as Rune coaxed his passions aflame once again, he couldn't quite bring himself back to the place he had been before the news of their deployment.

The next day passed in a flurry that seemed like mere hours as they hurriedly prepared. There were personal affairs to be gotten in order, wills to be made, and gear to be bought.

All too soon, he stood before the gates of the city.

Una and Rune said their goodbyes to their families, embracing and kissing each in turn. Family surrounded them; their bonds painfully clear as they openly wept.

Naturally, there would be no goodbyes for him and it was as he wished.

"You can count on it!" Una's voice punctuated the hum of conversation as she spoke with a group of her cousins. Aside from the sadness of parting, Una was so remarkably blithe that she seemed afflicted. She wrapped her arm around Kaleril, "We'll see each other again, don't cry!"

"I shall see to it you come home, Una." He didn't intend to say his oath aloud, but the words were determined to be spoken.

A hand fell upon his shoulder. Ash glowered as Tanithal once again came to stand at his side. The elegant warlock was extraordinarily sober and composed despite his drunken antics the day before. "Don't make promises you cannot keep, brother."

Ash hadn't told his brother about his deployment. Frankly, he had been hoping to leave without seeing the damnable warlock.

"She will be different." The paladin growled.

"You are going to war." Tanithal was patronizing him again, speaking to him as if he were a simpleton. "To commit yourself to an oath you have no ability to uphold will destroy you…"

It was laughable that his brother would think they were in any way equal, that he could relate to the danger they would face in the arctic. The sorcerer had no idea. He was but a child flaunting power and delusions of grandeur.

"Since this is apparently personal… who, then, did you give an oath to?" Ash sneered, "Your succubus? Forget to get her nails done?"

"To mother," The warlock said far too softly. Ash felt his heart jump into his throat: his elder brother never spoke like this. "As she breathed her last, that I would keep her youngest and most troubled son safe."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I'd like to thank FS, beachedsam, KooriRoninheart, pacificuser, Rooietroll, and RogueMudblood for your wonderful reviews! Thank you so much!

Thanks again to KooriRoninheart for beta reading this for me! Love you, Sis! Thank you again!

**Updated June 08, 2013 -** Wanderingaddict pointed out I had a bit of an issue with Una's portrayal in this chapter, making her seem far more experienced than I had portrayed her in earlier chapters. Thanks so much for all your help!


	16. Chapter 16: Northrend

**Chapter 16 – Northrend**

* * *

Una awoke suddenly; alarmed but yet unsure what had awakened her.

For the span of several heartbeats, she had been certain she had been in her old quarters in the barracks, the sea air wafting through her curtains as she awaited the chime of her alarm clock. It was the lack of the comforting, soft ticking that made her aware she was not there. The occasional whiffs of foul odor and the periodic muffled shouts from above were out of place too.

Deep, booming groans and staccato creaks, like that of stressed wood, came and went. She could swear there was breathing around her. No, there really was soft, steady breathing around her but the wood was still creaking. A communal room? No…

Una groggily pushed herself upright, somewhat exasperated by whatever she was sleeping in. The heavy, quilted thing prevented her from rising easily and curled firmly around her.

Wood paneling covered every inch around her, broken by darkened, shapeless forms hanging from the ceiling. A shaft of brilliant light illuminated one corner of the gloom, a set of steeply pitched stairs outlined amid the brightness. Shadows fell across it regularly, but never lingered. Regular too was the trickle of water that splattered the treads and brought the scents of seawater.

Her surroundings shuddered with a muffled roar. For a moment, she felt weightless. Then unnaturally pressed into the cocoon of canvas.

It was over as quickly as it began. Heart pounding furiously, she braced herself for what might happen next.

Anaru made a low whistle, "High seas this morning." She couldn't see her cousin, but he was somewhere nearby.

"Aye."

Una tentatively released her death grip on the canvas. She sighed at herself in exasperation and buried her face in her cowl. After weeks at sea, she shouldn't be surprised to find herself on _The Providence_ every morning, startled by the movements and sounds of ship and ocean.

Una felt her pulse quicken as the ship moved beneath her once again. She knew it was virtually impossible to be thrown from a slung hammock, but it did nothing to stop that momentary, instinctive terror.

Anaru gave a short cry of warning and exclaimed incredulously, "That can wait!"

"Of course. How… _foolish_ of me." Ashal Orlinde replied in his typical, laconic manner. She knew that tone all too well. He'd been caught in the midst of something really dumb and was defending himself through sarcasm.

If Anaru responded, she couldn't tell, though she could easily imagine her cousin rolling his eyes.

Her life seemed as though it had separated into distinct sections. Her childhood memories and even those of her life before joining the Argent Dawn all felt like they had happened to someone else. Those six months in the Argent Dawn, traveling the world in a mobile strike team were a lifetime ago. Then her injury and stay in Quel'thalas.

Indeed, moments like this were that made even her most recent memories seem unreal and ephemeral – as though she had indeed lay in her bed and imagined the whole thing.

A door slammed open. Una startled. The noises from above grew abruptly louder. Wind howled and seas roared. Bitter salt air rushed down the stairs. The boom and crash of waves against wood punctuating the latest rise and fall of the ship.

Then sudden quiet. A shadow fell across the light and this time it did linger, heavy steps of hooves against wooden treads, bobbing steadily, growing until a dark form eclipsed the light entirely.

"We'll make landfall today." Hakander's voice announced breathlessly. Seawater splattered the treads and dripped from his massive oiled coat and from his muscular tail.

She could barely keep her footing below decks even on normal seas, but it didn't seem to trouble the Draenei. He seemed to exult in the cold, the pulse of the ocean, and roar of the winds. Hakander never seemed to stumble, slip, or lose his footing. He was solid and poised.

Una blinked the remaining drowsiness from her eyes and strained to listen to the hushed conversation that would likely follow. Even the bald humanoid's words sounded drenched! Why had he been above deck?

However, no conversation followed the Vindicator's decree – at least any she heard. Hakander shrugged off his sodden coat and hung it beside the staircase. There were soft steps, rustles and sighs as the men brushed past sleeping troops, and then soft footfalls ascended the stairs to the upper deck.

Una cursed her luck, having woken up too late to hear anything of interest.

Hands grasped the bulkhead near her head with a smack. Anaru's smiling face greeted her, "Private! You awake?"

"Yeah…" Una froze when she realized she'd forgotten to address her cousin properly.

"Come with me." The elder paladin ordered before she could correct the gaffe.

"Yes, Sir." Una nodded and her cousin slipped away, only to appear a moment later in the bright shaft of light that lead above deck, bounding up the steps without bothering a handhold. The young woman felt a pang of disgust at her cousin's grace. She would have managed to fall on her face.

Though, that possibility was still very much present. Previously, Una had traveled on passenger and merchant ships. Those ships usually had berths at the very least. This was her first time on a troop transport vessel. The ceilings were low, perhaps only seven feet from deck to beams, and hammocks were often closely slung to fit the troops and sailors.

Ashal had taken great pleasure in informing all present that they had been six feet or less before the coming of Kal'dorei and Draenei.

The young elf had been upset, though she'd fought to restrain herself. Instead, she had confided in her cousin her fears that she would fall on someone at some point. To mollify her, Anaru had rearranged hammocks until her hammock hung somewhat apart. However, it still left her in a quandary every time she went to bed and arose.

Una took a deep breath and glanced around appraisingly, licking her lips. There was an order of operations she needed to perform to get into her hammock: Grasp the beam, pull herself up in a hanging pushup, swing her legs into the hammock while avoiding getting her feet caught, and lower herself into place. To get out, the process was reversed. It was something she had to think about each and every time.

First week at sea, Una had unwittingly found herself entertainment for troops and sailors alike. If she didn't fall getting into her hammock, she'd fall getting out. If she didn't fall, she couldn't get her feet in or out without getting caught. Every night, to her embarrassment, she had gone to bed accompanied by laughter. Naturally, now that she could more or less perform the maneuver flawlessly, their voyage was at an end.

Una dropped lightly to the deck, staggered, and breathed an audible sigh of relief. Someone badly covered a loud snicker, only managing to lessen it to a few snorts. She made a rude gesture in the vague direction of the laugh and trudged her way to and up the stairs.

The high elf felt her stomach give an unhappy lurch as the ship rose and fell over another wave.

She reminded herself sternly that an experienced crew manned_ The Providence_ and the vessel itself was built for arctic waters. However, the mental command did nothing to dispel the disquiet she felt as the pre-dawn ocean came into view through the door.

There was nothing but their fleet and wind-whipped, white-capped, cobalt water that stretched on as far as the eye could see. In the distance rose and fell the unmistakable shapes of icebergs and pack ice, some easily larger than any ship in the fleet. There were no signs of life, glimpses of land, or even seabirds. Not even the distant twinkle of a lighthouse.

Seawater mercilessly pounded the door, turning the glass nearly opaque.

"You should see this!" Anaru said breathlessly, fascinated by the wind and waves, as he grasped the doorframe to steady himself. "By the Light! This is… _incredible_!" He was as anxious as she was, perhaps more, but couldn't seem to tear himself from the vista.

She felt herself pale and shook her head fervently, "I'd rather not." The younger paladin was acutely aware she was neither a sailor nor a fish.

Even in the south, ships had gone to the bottom in conditions less foul than this. Crews from the northern whaling fleet occasionally made port and took great delight in recounting their exploits at sea. They had said the arctic was especially bad in spring. The seas alone were cold enough that if someone went overboard their survival could be counted in mere minutes before hypothermia claimed them.

The ship rose and fell once more and with it her stomach. Anaru finally shook himself from the scene and held out his hand. Her hands ached from her white-knuckled grip on the rail but she had to force herself to let go. His hand was warm and dampened with sweat. With the next wave, she abandoned all pretext and clung to his entire arm.

She feared they were going to outside, onto the deck. Hakander had clearly been outside. However, Anaru confidently led her through a maze of narrow corridors to the aft war-room under the captain's quarters. Hakander, Ash, and Captain Natalia Atkinson already stood before a table littered with charts. Una reluctantly released her cousin to come to attention.

"Good morning, Captain Whitebrook." Captain Atkinson greeted, returning their salutes with a hand wrapped in thick, stained bandages.

"Good morning. Lieutenant Hakander tells me we're expected to make landfall." Anaru replied. "But first, Private Whitebrook will have a look at your hand."

"Thank you." Captain Atkinson said, beckoning her forward. The woman clearly disliked elves; though, the attitude Una had grown accustomed to was absent.

"What happened?" Una asked, gingerly taking the woman's hand and pushing her sleeve up.

"Caught it in a door…" Atkinson remarked in an offhanded way, her voice tight as the High Elf woman peeled the bandages away. The Captain herself had set the bones, probably. Una felt sickened for the pain she must be experiencing.

"Light!" Una exclaimed, "That must have been some door!"

Atkinson's nostrils flared at the remark. Una ignored the expression and set to work.

It was difficult not to spend time meticulously examining the wound, as she once would have done. Rune had told her that having medical expertise, while absolutely vital, was also a distraction for her. The _what_ and _why_ of the injury and _how_ to treat it was taking her focus away from what she could do. Or rather: what the Light could do.

Rune had encouraged her to go back to basics. Not to the point of forsaking any of her training, but rather refocus and unify both sides of her skills. The Light knew what needed to be done. All she had to do was ask for its help.

Bowing her head, Una did just that. The Light rose within her readily, coming to her silent prayers to mend the wounded woman. The paladin allowed herself to sink into a trance, focusing her magic into the wounded flesh in her hands.

The holy energy filling her was beautiful, pure, full of grace, and indescribably _right_. She always felt so alive when she did this. So often, Una could describe herself as feeling empty and hollow. Filled with the Light, she was part of something so much larger.

Una opened her eyes with a sigh, only slightly surprised at how much time had passed. She had come to kneel upon the deck, probably sinking to her knees as the ship plowed through another mammoth wave. The hand that was pulled from her grasp was whole and strong, the woman's skin fresh and unmarred.

"Good work… Private." Captain Atkinson said briskly as Una climbed to her feet. It was a small but pleasant surprise to hear the word her title this time, rather than "elf."

"Thank you, Captain." As usual, her words were far more confident and composed than her thoughts. She was reveling and in awe of what she had done.

"Yes, good work." Anaru echoed with a proud grin. "Return to the troop deck to await landfall." Ashal was stoic as ever as he merely nodded, but Hakander was beaming.

"Yes, Sir." She bowed slightly to the others, "Captain. Lieutenant Hakander; Lieutenant Orlinde." The brown haired paladin saluted respectfully and slipped out the door.

As she shut the door behind her, Una suppressed the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. It wasn't the first time she had healed someone in the same manner, but it was the first time she'd have a chance to do it in front of her superiors. It wasn't a huge change, just a different way of thinking. But, who would have thought such a minor change would yield such results? Anaru's praise was bolstering enough, but to earn a smile like that from _Hakander_?

Feeling oddly flustered, she began making her way back to the troop deck.

The ship lurched over yet another wave. Una swallowed the cry that almost escaped. The high elf instinctively braced herself against the wall.

Forcing herself not to look anywhere that might contain porthole – or worse, a full window – Una opted to stare at the ceiling instead. Her heart was racing.

Her ears were pressed tight against the wood paneling, rubbing uncomfortably as the ship moved. Her hands and back ached ferociously from the act of bracing herself. For all the discomfort, she was afraid to pull away.

It was all too easy to let her imagination run wild, each scenario worse than the previous. The ship listing and sinking, the rush of water surging through the wood paneled passages… She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly from her nose. Una stared at a point near the ceiling, where the elegant honey-colored paneling and scrollwork met the equally ornate ceiling. The scrollwork was painted a vivid crimson, the stylized Lordaeron "L" appearing every few feet in a slightly deeper hue of scarlet…

There was a lot of red on this ship.

The observation came from nowhere and Una cringed at her foolishness. _Of course_ there would be red everywhere… _The Providence_ and her crew were formerly part of the Scarlet Crusade. Most of the ships in the fleet had been at some point.

Steeling herself, Una set off through the maze of corridors back to her end of the ship. It took several tries and wrong way turns before she found herself passing by the windows and then her staircase. Una held her hand up to her face in an effort to block her view of the ocean.

Rune was probably awake by now. If she didn't come to him gushing cheer, he would tease her mercilessly. He still played the fool, though she knew him to be anything but one.

Una's boot hit the first water-slick tread and the ship creaked ominously. A shudder. A muffled roar. She lurched forward and her boot skimmed the next board.

She clutched the rail. But the walls rushed past.

Rune's surprised face.

His arms snapped around her. The Blood Elf staggered backwards a few paces and sat down hard.

"I just knew you'd fall for me eventually!" Rune laughed breathlessly. She clutched his brocade-clad arms, trembling. Her forehead started to sting and right hand burned. Boisterous laughter made her bow her head in shame.

"Lass, are ye alright?" One of the men called over the laughter.

"Are you hurt?" Rune echoed, his arms tightening around her.

"I'm fine." She answered weakly. Rune didn't look convinced or assured. One immaculately groomed, strawberry blond eyebrow lifted inquiringly.

"See, boys!" Ludger bellowed in laughter before Rune could ask, "Our Lucky Charm at work! She falls on 'er face so the resta us dun fall down dead!"

"… I am going to kill him," Una growled pithily in Thalassian.

A snort was the only reply from the blond healer as he released her. After rising, he paused to tug on the hem of his shirt to straighten it, his lips mashed together as he tried not to laugh.

The dwarf in question was sitting at a heavy, oaken table nearby with the other dwarves of her platoon. They had hardly spoken with each other in Menethil Harbor. Thus, it still boggled Una's mind to see them together, acting as though they were the best of friends.

Ludger was known for his manic love of anything that exploded, as she'd noticed that first mission all those months ago. He was cheerful, eccentric, and perhaps a little touched in the head.

The demolitionist had taken to referring to her as their "lucky charm" the very night Ashal, Runean, and she had arrived in the Wetlands. She was _lucky_, the dwarf had insisted. It didn't make sense to her. Her clumsy nature wasn't any indication of inborn luck. Considering how disastrous her first mission had gone, she certainly hadn't granted any luck to the team. Neither did it add up with the futile missions nor her near fatal encounter in the Plaguelands.

The men had suggested that logic frequently had no place in a conversation with Ludger. Una could believe it. Though she wished he wouldn't make such a big deal when she did something clumsy.

By contrast, former Theramore Marine and company engineer, Lieutenant Domhnall Mountainhand, was dour, taciturn, and logical. Making things periodically explode was nothing terribly impressive and simply part of his job. He was also the youngest of the trio, though a siege tank and artillery expert. Dom, as he was often called, didn't even react when she was clumsy.

By even further contrast, Sergeant Bergi Bronzebellows was gruff, but kindly and already shaping into the company confidant. Things that exploded made the silver-haired priest nervous and he wasn't above admitting he half-expected to hear "medic" cried soon after. Whenever she was clumsy, Bergi always asked if she was okay and urged her to be more mindful.

"Do you need to sit down?" Rune asked, calmly holding his hand out to a chair. "Any seasickness this morning?"

She shook her head but accepted the offered chair, "None yet, but the day's young."

"That it is." Bergi agreed, stroking his beard as Domhnall nodded sagely. "We've already had a few bouts this morning." From behind her, someone made a loud and obviously fake retching noise. The racket nearly drowned the dwarf out as he continued, "Bound to happen on these seas."

The retching noise was suddenly right in her ear. She glared as Cole Donovan rounded the table behind her, still pretending to be violently ill.

Cole Donovan had enlisted, not just with the Argent Crusade, but her platoon specifically. The same blithering idiot who had conspired to pull a prank on them in Darkshire was now a permanent member.

"Shut up, Donovan!" Una retorted sharply.

"Have you prepared for landfall, Private Donovan?" Rune interjected before anything else could erupt from her mouth. The blond paladin held his hand out to her as he spoke, silently signaling her to hold her tongue.

"No, Sir." The reply was flippant. There wasn't a single shred of discipline in his behavior – military or otherwise.

Runean nodded to the young human's things piled carelessly near his hammock rather than hung as they were supposed to be. "I would suggest you do so."

"Yeah, yeah…" Cole interrupted, swiftly walking to the stairs and bounding up.

Una watched him go, aghast. She looked to Rune as he shook his head. She might be able to get away with murder, but it would have had her hide if she'd sassed any of the officers like that!

"Light!" Una hissed, "Of all the people on Azeroth, why that little prick?"

Rune gave a little jerk of comical, mock surprise and shook his head with a chuckle, "Awaken on the wrong side of the hammock, milady?"

"I'm serious!" Una exclaimed stridently.

"Scourge got his father." Bergi answered before Rune could. "Yer cousin accepted his enlistment himself. Have a wee bit o' patience with the lad, he's just actin' out."

Una hung her head, frustrated. Like him or not, Cole's enlistment was almost exactly how Anaru had joined the Argent Dawn according to Dispatch Commander Metz. If Anaru pitied him that much, Cole was probably untouchable.

Una took a deep breath and stated as evenly as she could, "He should still be reprimanded for insubordination."

"I agree. That was out of line." A woman's voice remarked casually, though still firm.

Cornelia Randall stepped from where she had been leaning and crossed her arms over her chest. The stout human woman had been an adventurer, fighting her way across Azeroth and beyond. Cornelia had seen things Una couldn't even imagine.

It was a relief to no longer be the only female. In fact, she was now one of many. However, their presence was also somewhat intimidating. Unlike Una, all the other women were no strangers to the battlefield. Frankly, all of them were veterans of at least one war, if not several. Each was stronger than she was; and, all higher ranking and better suited to battle.

"Private Whitebrook is right." Domhnall said from his spot beside Ludger. "We need to maintain discipline. This is an _army_, not Sunday school."

"You have my assurances; I'll speak with Captain Whitebrook." Rune said earnestly, though not without a placating gesture.

Una mouthed her thanks to Cornelia and Domhnall and received a smile and nod in return.

Una prepared, checked and rechecked her gear and supplies, but rapidly that too was exhausted. Her troop mates occupied themselves as they had done all the weeks they had been at sea.

Eventually Hakander, Ashal, and Anaru returned from the war-room. There wasn't much to report, other than landfall was expected today. After a short debriefing regarding the upcoming march to Icecrown Glacier, she once again found herself without much to do.

The hours ticked by as though each one were a day in itself. She was napping when the cries announcing land finally echoed throughout the vessel.

Una had known they would make landfall today. What she hadn't been expecting was the sheer cliffs that rose unexpectedly from frigid, floe-covered sea. Even more unexpected was the narrow channel in the rock face they seemed to be aiming for.

She found herself holding her breath as the fleet began to maneuver into the cleft, barely restraining herself from throwing herself to the nearest handhold as the ship's engines started. The fir trees that clung tenaciously to the rocks looked as though they would be close enough to touch.

The crew seemed blasé, perhaps even cheerful, as they went about their duties as though nothing at all was amiss. As if they weren't navigating a tunnel that could easily wreak the ship, throwing them all to the icy waters.

"Awesome" was the only word Una could think of to describe it. Terrible, frightening, wild, and very beautiful. Their ship, the entire fleet, was inconsequential and she was but a speck.

Delicate wispy patches of sea smoke drifted and rose from the chilly, cobalt water and swept over the deck despite the warmth of the spring sun.

High above the channel and veiled somewhat by the rising fog, the endless blue sky shimmered periodically with vibrant ribbons green and golden aurora even in broad daylight.

Fir trees had taken hold even on the most diminutive outcroppings, their needles a healthy and vibrant blue-green. Majestic golden eagles and startlingly white osprey soared high above and roosted upon the rocks and trees high above.

As they rounded the final bend, the port city of Valgarde came into view.

The paladin had been told Northrend was an untamed wilderness gripped by eternal winter. It was a common saying that Northrend was what hell would be if it froze over. Rumors of entire towns vanishing were common even in Stormwind, allegedly swept from the mortal coil by plague and Scourge. Rune had spoken of trolls who made frequent raids on towns and villages, taking prisoners for sacrifice or slaves.

Thus, she had expected to find a tiny strand of a village with desperate holdouts maintaining a crumbling line at the edge of a desolate, frigid wasteland.

Instead, the young high elf found herself approaching a muddy, rugged, but bustling seaport at the edge of a verdant pine forest. The ruins of an ancient castle towered high above the trees in the distance.

It was a rough place, that much was certain, but no worse than Ratchet or Booty Bay. Burly humans and dwarves milled about, preparing for the incoming fleet. Thick sweaters and woolen breeches were the standard wardrobe of the dockworkers, all of a heavy, arctic weave. The citizens here appeared to be the resilient, hard drinking, hard living sort. Frankly, anyone who dared make a life on a frontier would have to be that way.

Anaru's hand came to rest on her shoulder. Una smiled up at her cousin and offered, "You know… this isn't near as bad as I was expecting."

The elder paladin smiled at that, "Agreed." He leaned in and asked in a low voice, "Want to go exploring later?"

The high elf woman nodded enthusiastically. The last time her cousin and she had gone exploring, it had been back during the Third War. He had been both her rock and the instigator in so many little adventures. It would be like old times.

She was giddy by the time their dingy bumped up against the docks; buoyed by the realization this wasn't the frozen hell she thought it would be. At least not this specific corner of Northrend.

Well, actually, it was still cold. It wasn't the cold that would penetrate down to her soul, as she had been warned. Her heavy cloak kept the spring breeze at bay, though it chilled her nose and ears and ruffled stray hairs that escaped the tight braids wound upon her head. The crisp air held the promise of snow, something she had seen little of in Stormwind. Even that was exciting.

"Welcome to Valgarde," Anaru announced loudly once they were all assembled. "Largest seaport and military presence this side of Northrend. We'll be staying here briefly to rest and supply."

"Camp will be along the Northern wall. Be there no later than dusk for debriefing. Otherwise," Anaru swept his arms out to either side as he drew out the word before finishing. "Enjoy yourselves. Dismissed."

Una bounced and cheered with the rest of the troops. Or rather, tried to at any rate. She had been expecting it to feel better being on land again; instead, she felt odd. Dizzy, almost as bad as she'd felt on the ship, as though the dock were moving.

It didn't take long for the troops to collect their things and begin to disperse. Ash and Rune were among the last to leave, preferring to linger until most of the troops had left.

Hakander shook his head with a chuckle at the two elves, muttering quietly to himself in his native tongue. With a bow and a salute, the Draenei departed in search of a hot cup of coffee.

Una grinned up at her cousin expectantly. Anaru returned the grin and ruffled her hair, just as they used to do. That too, made her feel strange.

Across the harbor, the first of the cargo vessels had docked and the first of the cargo was being hauled from the hold. One of them bore her beloved charger. She hadn't seen her horse since she boarded back in Menethil.

"Come on, he'll be waiting for you at camp this evening." Anaru knew her all too well.

The docks looked like any other seaport she had visited. Smelled like them too. Everywhere she looked, the docks teemed with dockworkers, seagulls, and crates of all sizes. If it was like the other seaports, the dockworkers had to have something for lunch.

"Meat pies! Pasties!" A barker's voice rose above the din, "Get your pipin' hot pasties!" The high elf spotted the young dwarven barker and a dwarven woman a ways up the dock with a laden food cart. There were other food carts too, other barkers a bit further down.

Una cried out in delight and tugged her cousin's arm to urge him to follow. Anaru grinned broadly and allowed her to practically drag him along.

Her mouth watered at the smells. No more dunking teeth-shattering hardtack in bitter coffee to soften the biscuit; no more pickled fish and salted beef – at least for a couple days.

After making their purchases, they made their way deeper into town and settled upon a sturdy brick wall to enjoy their meal.

Una couldn't help but smile, relishing finally being on solid land again after weeks at sea. She took another bite of her dwarven potato pancake, pausing and shutting her eyes in ecstasy. Though cooling rapidly, each bite was heavenly.

"This is so good." Anaru moaned, setting his meat pasty down upon the napkins in his lap.

Una nodded and took a bite from her own pasty, leaning back to look at the building behind them. It was a large home, probably belonging to a wealthy merchant.

The buildings in Valgarde were stout, with extremely pitched roofs that testified to the amount of snow they could receive. All had heavy, exposed beams and considerable foundations. The home behind them even sported intricate carvings and stained glass with motifs unlike any human architecture she had seen.

"So strange." She mused, "Doesn't even look like human homes."

"It's cultural." Anaru remarked as she took another bite.

Una covered her mouth with her fingers as she chewed hurriedly. "I know, I know… I just didn't expect anything so… exotic."

"Exotic!" Anaru echoed with a laugh. The brown haired man cackled, "Cousin, if you think _this_ is exotic –!"

"Oh, stop it!" Una laughed, punching him lightly on the arm.

Anaru cackled once more in response to that. "But you're so fun to tease!"

"I've noticed!" Una retorted with a laugh.

When they finished, they ventured onward. Valgarde teemed with their fellow crusaders and long processions of horses, cargo, and supplies.

Mounds of snow littered the village, though determined grass and even more determined spring flowers had pushed through to greet the spring sun. In and around the harbor sprouted brilliant crimson flowers with golden throats and spotted with black in any place left undisturbed.

She could tell that at least some of the danger had not been overstated. There were significant fortifications along the edge of the forest and the abundance of vigilant guards suggested attack was not an unexpected event. Frankly, it reminded her of a more fortified Darkshire in a few ways.

Heavily rusted structures dotted the walls and tops of the bowl-like valley the town occupied, though Rune said they were abandoned. The entire company found them troubling, especially given the way they hovered over the harbor. Like defensive emplacements. It was extremely easy to imagine those structures sporting some manner of gun, trebuchet, or other ranged weaponry. It was undeniable that their positions gave each one a clear view of the harbor.

"Do you really think those are abandoned?" She asked. Anaru had more of a military background than she did and probably had information she didn't.

He didn't answer. He was brooding, completely lost in his thoughts. Her beloved cousin had been somewhat distant since Silvermoon and even more so since the disastrous Winterveil party. While Great Uncle Lorandil's resurrection as one of the most Scourge's most lethal weapons had been difficult on the entire family, the revelation hit Anaru especially hard.

Una whistled, attempting to put the same force he could behind the sound. It paled in comparison to his whistle, coming not at all close to the volume or tone.

The elder paladin paused mid-step. A small smile broke out across Anaru's face, "Sorry, Una."

"No problem." She replied and then pointed at one of the emplacements, "I just asked about those…"

Anaru gazed appraisingly up the cliffs to the tops of the fjords. After a moment, he said, "… I don't like them either, but we won't have time before we disembark. The Alliance fleet is a week – maybe two – behind us. With any luck, they'll secure the cliffs before they advance into the interior."

"When _do_ we disembark?" Una started to ask.

"Hey, Lucky!"

"Oh, blessed…" Una muttered and blushed at Lieutenant Ludger's booming shout as they paused.

Anaru chuckled.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that." She told him when they neared.

"Captain. Private." Ludger offered a jaunty salute in greeting, "Now, lass… no need t'be humble."

"Would both of ye like to come for a wee drink?" Bergi interjected suddenly and with slight force.

"Thank you, Sergeant, but I'm not much for liquor." Anaru replied graciously.

"I think I'll pass too." Una said quickly as Ludger's enthusiastic gaze fell upon her. "Thanks, though."

Ludger momentarily looked disgusted but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Suit yourself!" He exclaimed, "More fer us lads!"

And, with that, the dwarves were off in search of a tavern. Bergi glanced behind him once with an apologetic look upon his bearded face.

Anaru tugged lightly on her elbow, drawing her back into a walk. Una's arm tingled from his touch and for a brief moment tears threatened. It felt wonderful to be back at his side. Chiding herself for being silly, she hurried until she fell back into step with him.

With the topic of drink, Una's mind back towards the last few nights in Silvermoon. To Ash and his brother, drunk and fighting in the streets. To Ash suggesting she was some kind of… stupid little girl?

"Has Lieutenant Orlinde…" Una started to ask sarcastically and then fell silent awkwardly. By the Light, there was no delicate way to ask what she wanted.

She cared for the man that had helped her make it this far, but he couldn't hold his liquor any better than Anaru could in her opinion. Perhaps worse. It didn't help she knew he had developed an infatuation with _her_, despite being Rune's lover.

Anaru chuckled, "We had a talk."

Una snorted and said wryly, "Well, that sounds painful."

Her cousin chuckled at that and there was an odd humor to that laugh. "He generally has two extremes when it comes to people he cares about and seldom anything between. I'm afraid you've fallen into the _needs protection_ extreme. When he realizes you've changed or grown, he'll lament that he's not stronger than you."

"Yeah, I noticed." Una said. "The other is that you're an ass and his bitter rival."

Anaru laughed once more with that same dark humor, "Though get him on the battlefield and he's my best friend."

Una wanted to bring up Cole, but it didn't feel right. Instead, she asked once more, "When were we going to disembark?"

Anaru grinned at the blatant change of subject, "Time enough to prepare as much as possible. I imagine I'll find out soon." He shrugged and added, "If we're to succeed, we can't afford losses early on."

Una nodded her agreement. While Anaru had been assigned mostly experienced troops this time, it was imperative they reach Icecrown with as many troops as possible. Their small band of fighters had grown from what they simply and informally called a _unit_ to a proper platoon.

The Argent Dawn had sat at the crux between proper military and a loose militia. While it needed a restructuring, it was still depressing. Many were brought in with their rank intact; others were offered a comparable rank as part of the terms of enlistment. She, however, was back at the very bottom.

Her platoon was still a highly mobile force, that much remained unchanged. Most of the troops were accustomed to operating far afield and with a large degree of autonomy, which fit Anaru's style perfectly. That horrible mission in the Barrens not withstanding, they usually accomplished their objectives with little to no casualties. Highlord Fordring had stressed that he approved of the dynamic back during her interview.

While the team had grown, they were also still an eccentric mix of personalities and backgrounds, including marines, adventurers, cavalry, and even a few former Scarlet Crusaders. Despite what she had seen of the Scarlets in Stormwind, her new troop mates didn't seem overly crazed or zealous; merely focused.

"Stop that." Anaru commanded sternly after they had walked for some time.

It took her a few moments to pull herself back to the present and found she couldn't quite recall what he had said, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Now you're brooding." Anaru grinned, "Stop that."

"Oh, like you're one to talk!" Una shot back, but her cousin's finger found her ribs and she squeaked loudly in surprise.

"Don't test me, cousin." Anaru said with an ominously broad grin. "There are snowbanks deeper than you are tall."

A quick, somewhat panicked glance told her he was telling the truth. The shadows cast by the buildings and lush fir trees sheltered some significant snowbanks. Some looked deep enough to swallow Hakander!

"Same goes for you!" Una giggled, though she hurriedly stepped away from Anaru as he put his pack down. However, she wasn't quite fast enough. He snagged her wrist in one smooth, fluid movement. Una shrieked and giggled, twisting her arm free. She accidently dropped her pack as she tried to evade him.

Cackling, Anaru moved in to poke her in the stomach and ribs. She tried to bat his hands away but he caught her arms again. Soon enough, he had her over his shoulder. Una squealed and laughed as one of those mounds of snow rapidly approached.

There were hooves behind them. Hakander gazed at them with a grin, his battered tin cup steaming in his hand.

"Hakander! Help!" Una shrieked as Anaru unceremoniously dumped her in the snowbank. She hurriedly tried to escape. She impotently flailed and lunged forward, but she had sunk into the snow. Snowballs pelted her. Una shrieked, giggled, and tried to hold his arms at bay.

A snowball hit the back of Anaru's head, showering Una with clumps of snow. Another followed it.

Anaru scooped up a handful of snow from the bank she was laying in and flung it at the cackling Draenei.

Hakander dodged and sent another snowball sailing at her cousin. Anaru turned away from her with a laugh, "You want a piece of this!?" Her cousin slipped on a patch of snow and nearly sat upon her.

Una collected a handful of snow, seized the waistband of Anaru's pants, and dumped it in.

"Una!" Anaru squawked, ducking as Hakander launched another snowball. "Cease fire!" He cried as the Vindicator let fly another volley, "Hang on a moment!"

Hakander paused. Una wasn't sure he realized what she'd done until Anaru began awkwardly trying to fish down the back of his pants for the snow. The bald paladin then bent over with hysterical laughter.

Una lunged forward once more, freeing herself from the snowbank. Once again, it was as though the solid ground was moving beneath her as though a ship on the sea. She stayed on her hands and knees momentarily until the sensation passed. That was annoying.

She got to her feet and laughed as Hakander advanced on her cousin. It looked as though he intended to dump Anaru in a snowbank. Her cousin squawked once again, dodging the towering Draenei.

Hakander frowned and pouted comically and then turned to her with a grin. Una squeaked and began frantically gathering up snow.

The three-way fight continued long after their hands became tender from the cold and their noses reddened. The remains of their snowballs covered the ground and clung to nearby structures.

The trio of paladins eventually tired of their manic game and made their way to the encampment. Along the base of the fortifications, a tent city had bloomed like spring flowers. Troops, horses, large steam tanks, and supplies crowded the already narrow lanes. The languages of the Alliance merged and flowed, tumbling over each other.

Debriefing was brief; they would soon begin their march across the continent through forest and across mountains until they reached their goal.

As the sun set in a brilliant wash of reds and golds, the temperature slowly dropped until it was downright cold. Her platoon was in high spirits, jovially proclaiming the campaign's eventual success. Arthas, the mad prince and lord of the damned, would answer for his crimes.

Donovan, as usual, was being an idiot. He was tempting fate by clumsily attempting to flirt with Ruth Glasshammer. The conversation, such as it was, was cringe worthy.

Una settled near the fire, book in hand. It was one of her favorites, steamy and somewhat trashy. Fortunately, the book's cover was plain enough to not arouse suspicion. How she loved these types of books! She could be anything, any race, tall or short, buxom or boyish, curvaceous or willowy – anything but the mousey little elf she was.

"So wanna, ah… join me in my bedroll?" Cole blurted, sauntering up to Josie like a child attempting to be suave.

Una covered her face with her palm for a long moment. She buried herself in the worn pages and toned out the more annoying members of her platoon.

Something heavy abruptly fell upon Una's shoulder. The young High Elf shrieked in surprise and jerked her head up. Hakander's head was even with her own.

"Sorry!" The bald paladin exclaimed with a chuckle, pulling one of his neck tentacles from her shoulder and clasping it to his chest.

It was dark. Above the cheerful, red-gold embers floating like sprites above the campfire was brilliant emerald and golden aurora that covered every inch of the sky. Even further beyond, the silvery stars silently traced their eternal paths.

"… _this orc woman beloved by the elements_…" He muttered and reached forward, pressing a finger to the page Una was reading. A blush rushed up her cheeks as she saw what line his finger lay beneath. By the Light, he had been reading over her shoulder!

"I don't think the next position is possible even with support," Said the Draenei. "Also, our tails don't bend that way. I couldn't put my tail _up there_ even if I wanted to."

Snickers erupted around the campfire. Beside her, Anaru chuckled as he set aside his maps and compass.

"The grammar is atrocious too," Hakander commented with a diabolical grin. Una pressed her hands to her face to cover her reddened face as he continued, "And can they get any more florid?"

"She likes _those_ kinds of books, lad." Ludger took a deep drag on his cigar and blew a sizable cloud of smoke.

"Well, if you should ever desire a lesson in reality…" Rune announced, standing up and comically performing a couple pelvic thrusts, much to Cornelia's and Josie's glee. The two women shouted and cackled, encouraging Rune.

"Sit your skinny ass down, elf! Let a real man handle this!" Exclaimed Corporal Bernard Kline as he jumped to his feet. Ever since she'd met him in the Wetlands, Una had pondered if Kline had a bit of dwarven in him. The barrel-chested, olive-skinned human was certainly short and hairy enough.

"Only if she desires a gorilla!" Rune retorted.

Laughter, whistles, and catcalls erupted. Una covered her reddened face in her palms, but couldn't stop herself from laughing too. Cole tipped his head back and gave a weak coyote impression.

As if in answer, a more sinister howl echoed through the trees.

It was an unearthly howl, far removed from the cry of an ordinary wolf. Everything about it carried a distinct sense of wrongness from the tone. The length of the howl was wrong and even the odd way it echoed through the trees was _wrong_. Almost the pitch of a human, but the depth of a wolf. It was much like the occasional cries Una had heard distantly on patrol in Elwynn, crossing the river from Duskwood like an unseen invader. Only this cry was much louder, much closer to the encampment than those had been.

Una jerked as she realized what it was, dropping her book and taking up her mace and shield. It was the cry of a worgen. Crouching low, she cast her gaze to the periphery of their camp. All she could see was the darkened outline of towering pine. Murmurs and cries of alarm swept across the encampment.

"Oh, you have to be shitting me." Cole spoke each word mechanically. The distinct sound of him chambering a round in his rifle followed. Across the encampment, the rest of the army took up their arms – sleep, food, and leisure abruptly forgotten.

"Worgen? Here?" Anaru exclaimed incredulously. The worgen curse had a short incubation that made it spread like wildfire through populated areas, but slowly across great distances. Infected travelers usually turned feral long before they reached the next populated area. Once mindless, they generally didn't travel far.

Another howl answered, followed by another. And another. And more until the forest echoed with the call of the worgen. A pack.

"They're the most active at night." Cole declared, "We should take them out before the pack grows."

"Negative, Private Donovan." Anaru said firmly, "Worgen aren't our priority here."

"Indeed." Hakander agreed, rising to his feet. "Riding blindly through unfamiliar forest at night is folly." The massive humanoid nudged her boot with his hoof and added, "Stay alert."

Una obediently put her book away and sat back down before the fire, hugging her knees. Suddenly, she doubted anything about this was going to be easy.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, it's been a year since I last published a new chapter to my story. It's been a hectic year, including becoming a homeowner and the manager of my department at work. I'd like to thank WanderingAddict for their wonderful review. I'm sorry I didn't take time to thank you sooner. I love well thought out reviews like yours and I really should have thanked you sooner.

I'd also like to thank KooriRoninHeart for continuing to put up with me. ;-) Love you, Sis! Thanks so much for being there for me!


	17. Chapter 17: Balance

**Chapter 17 – Balance**

* * *

Dawn came crisp and clear the third day of the march. The pastel predawn light crept over a horizon still studded with stars and streaked with aurora. The ribbons of light shimmered and reformed, tracing the sky in an endless dance. The lingering cries of owls and the other velvet, nocturnal creatures lamented the passing of night even as the creatures of the day called their good mornings.

Una paused to watch the sky, her flint and steel momentarily forgotten as dawn continued to unfold. The brown haired paladin had risen early – it was her turn to cook; but she was glad for it. She would have missed this spectacle if she had slept in.

A narrow band clouds gleamed on the horizon as if they'd been spun from gold. Even as she watched, their hue became even more vivid as the first gleaming rays broke the horizon. Glittering frost speckled the tents and across the gleaming metal of the siege tanks like diamond dust.

She turned her attention back to the little cone of branches she'd made within the fire ring. Time for another attempt.

Her breath coming in quickly stolen clouds, Una struck her flint and steel again. The constantly howling wind was bad enough when she wasn't working with fingers that had already grown numb from the chill. Just when she thought she had a spark, the wind would blow it out.

The paladin struck her flint and steel once more and then again, sheltering the little nest of dry needles and grass from the wind with her body. Finally, a wispy plume of smoke rose from the tinder. Relieved, she hurriedly added more dry pine needles as the flames finally started to spread. Another minute or so and she could move.

Across from her, Rune patted his freshly shaven face dry and examined himself in a hand mirror. Seemingly pleased with his face, he began to fuss with his hair. Even in the chill, she could smell the perfumed lotion he worked through his reddish-blond hair. He was always impeccably groomed, even exposed to the elements as they were. Braids were the best she could accomplish and she was content with that. The fact that he put so much effort into his appearance on the trail was to some extent disheartening.

"Do not let Lieutenant Orlinde see you do that." Rune remarked as he put the finishing touches on his hair.

Una would have rolled her eyes if they hadn't suddenly been filled with smoke. Waving the smoke away from her face as she stifled a cough, the paladin could only hope he meant that Ash would be shocked to see her lighting a fire and not something sexist. "I'll have you know I boil toast just fine, thank you."

Above the wisps of smoke, the healer actually looked somewhat horrified.

This time Una did roll her eyes, "Relax. We're having scrambled eggs."

The Blood Elf coughed and looked away uncomfortably.

"You didn't really think I was serious?" It was a silly question, but she had to ask. She wasn't a talented cook, but she wasn't terrible either. However, she could never quite tell where some of the oddest comments originated with Ash and Rune.

"… Let us just… perhaps you could say… Ash couldn't cook before he met your grandfather." Rune blurted hurriedly and not without a nervous titter.

"Oh." Una shuddered as it sunk in. Ash had spoken little of his early life, though what he had told her suggested he had been extremely awkward. Anaru's tales made it sound as though Ash had been extremely sheltered before meeting her grandfather, but no mention of awkwardness. Rune's made it sound as though Ash used to leap from inspiration to deed with little thought in-between. The truth probably laid somewhere among the differing tales.

"So did you sleep well last night?" Rune asked with sudden cheerfulness as Una rose to her feet and dusted herself off.

"You're funny." Una commented, the fact he'd suddenly changed the subject not lost on her. They hadn't heard the cries of Worgen for a few days now, but the wind still howled and battered the tents continuously throughout the night. There were moments where she couldn't tell if she'd heard something howl or if she'd just heard the wind. "As well as I could in a tent in high wind."

The healer nodded.

The Sin'dorei took a seat to begin cracking eggs into their cook pot. The awkwardness of their conversation forgotten; he looked rather serene.

The blazing, golden face of the sun had crested the horizon, brilliant in all its glory. It was magnificent.

Rune paused and turned partially in place to watch the sunrise.

A tranquil stillness, so perfect and magical, held court with the crackling fire for a long moment before the wind howled once more. Una settled beside the blond, peeling and adding potatoes to the pot.

After a long moment, Rune spoke almost reverently, "There will come a time where it shall not set…"

Una nodded as she worked her knife through a fat, crisp potato. She was aware and was grateful for it. For an all-too-brief season, there would be no night, merely a brief twilight to mark the passing of the day.

The constant daylight would make resting difficult, but she knew they would adapt. They would learn to sleep in the saddle; and, find adequate rest in whatever moments they could spare.

The camp was starting to rouse and the troops started going about their morning rituals.

Hakander emerged from his tent, pausing to gaze at the sunrise. There wasn't even a shred of emotion upon his strong, noble face. Nothing at all to indicate he was even seeing the same incredible sunrise she was.

The Draenei's unusually playful mood he'd shown the day of landfall had vanished entirely and his mood had darkened with each day of the march. While typically stern and known for becoming irritable at times this wasn't like him. The Vindicator had never been this cold, detached, and _silent_. When he did speak he sounded irritated.

Anaru, as well, had gained a troubling intensity. He always tended to brood and over-think things, but this anger was unlike anything she had seen in him before. During her tenure with the Argent Dawn, she relied on her cousin to explain what was happening and give her a quick briefing. Now he seemed aggravated if she asked him anything.

Last night, Una had asked him for clarification on a simple question: Would she remain with the platoon or be stationed in a central location for Zul'drak? He had all but given her a dressing down for asking.

Frankly, it frightened her. It was bad enough she had her doubts and insecurities, but her superior officers too? Maybe they were frightened, but were choosing to cover it with anger. On the other hand, maybe they were angry because they were frightened.

Cheese, eggs, potatoes, and bacon went into the pot and emerged soon after as a hearty trail breakfast. Una waited for a comment Anaru. A gentle word, at the very least. He used to love her scrambled eggs; but, he ate rapidly in silence before returning to his charts and notebook.

"My thanks, Private." Ashal said unexpectedly as he passed, startling her.

"You're welcome, Sir." Una replied quietly. Orlinde hadn't spoken much since landfall. In fact, he had returned to his stiff but polite demeanor.

Ash nodded and touched his forehead with his fingers in salute. Una quickly copied the gesture. And with that, the elder paladin ventured off to pack his belongings.

Una grimaced and cupped her face with her palm. Of course, it would only occur to her _after_ he walked away that she should probably have thanked him! It was probably the closest thing she was going to get to a compliment.

As she scrubbed the pot clean, barked orders rippled through the camp. Time to break camp and continue on their way.

Una packed up her belongings, watching her cousin intently. Watched as he packed up his things and loaded them back on Jet. Watched as he made his way to the neighboring camp to speak with their officers.

With a sigh of frustration, Una began to load her things on Vesper. Whatever was bothering Anaru, she wasn't going to figure it out by staring at him or by willing him to come talk to her.

"Donovan! Your mother isn't here! Move your ass!" Ashal's voice thundered. Light, he could sound like Talaerion when he wanted!

Cole scrambled to comply. Una had to swallow the giggle and locked eyes with Cornelia. The human woman shook her head almost imperceptibly, grinning ear to ear.

It was moments like this that made her thankful for Hiram. She had craved his approval on their adventures, even as he found cause to loiter in any town with decent swill. Light help her if it happened to be a dwarven town. However, when he announced departure he had always meant _now_. She'd learned to disassemble camp in a hurry. The real lesson had come trying to put it back together if she hadn't taken everything down properly. There had to be some cosmic law saying it had to pour to reinforce the lesson too.

Cole Donovan, for all his apparent training as a hunter, didn't have a clue what he was doing. Poles were jammed into their bag going different ways, the canvas stuffed into the sack rather the folded, and who knows what other shortcuts he was taking. He'd have a long night trying to figure out where everything went in the dark.

Pausing to stroke Vesper's warm, velvety nose and whisper affectionate greetings to the animal, Una cast her gaze back at Anaru. He was speaking with Crusader MacKellar now, though she couldn't hear them through the racket as the steam-powered siege tanks came to life.

As those ahead of them started to move out, Anaru jogged back, his face unreadable.

The forest thinned, the fir trees slowly replaced by smaller species of evergreen and sedge. Soon the trees gave way altogether to vast and lush fields of cold-hardy wheat and barley that undulated in the wind like ocean waves.

Quaint, picturesque farming villages and rugged Alliance trading outposts made every bend in the road something to look forward to. Supplies were easy to come by and game was plentiful. They would continue to eat well for the foreseeable future – at least until they reached the interior.

They passed grassy plateaus gilt with vivid yellow clover and dotted with constellations of wildflowers. Ahead, to the north, the elevation climbed steadily. Beyond that, the forests grew thick and tall and the roads climbed rolling hills. The trees grew in both height and girth until there was no doubt in anyone's mind they gazed upon redwoods.

Where redwoods fell across the road, passages had been cut through their massive trucks wide enough to admit an entire tank with ease.

Bears were sighted at every turn, many with cubs, fishing for salmon from bitterly cold mountain rivers or resting from their feast. Majestic imperial eagles roosted high in the emerald boughs, sometimes boldly stealing from the bears.

It was cold and crisp, rugged and beautiful. Despite the chill, everything was so green. Flowers of every hue and color flourished despite the chill. Occasional clearings were covered with carpets and mounded drifts of vibrantly purple flowers.

Una raptly gazed around her in wonder, soaking it all in. A ranger she might not be, but this was exactly the type of wilderness she yearned to lose herself in. Someday, when this was all over, she would perhaps return with her cousins and explore the wilderness.

Kaleril's eyes had lit up when she'd suggested writing Tallak or Dagan to ask for apprenticeship. Perhaps, if everyone survived, she could bring her little cousin and the orc hunters north. See this forest through their eyes and learn as Kaleril learned.

Sadly, Una knew their time in the Grizzly Hills was short-lived. The briefings had said they had picked the most direct route through the forest. They had a king to kill; after all, and time was of the essence. She wished to spend weeks in this forest, but she had only hours.

The terrain leveled out unexpectedly as the road cut through what at first seemed to be natural terraces zigzagging up the hills. The rocks were covered in a beautiful assortment of lichen, some with tiny pink flowers. Then Una caught a glimpse of a lichen-covered rock shaped suspiciously like the head of a wind serpent.

They had passed into the troll lands.

There actually wasn't a need to go through Zul'drak. Una had seen the maps for herself, traced routes that took them around the troll lands. Sane travelers did that very thing. However, Scouts already reported that the Scourge had a presence in the lower levels of the valley. They couldn't have an entire troll empire, declining or not, added to the Scourge's arsenal.

In a perfect world, a sane world, the trolls would recognize they were at last receiving reinforcements. However, this wasn't a sane world. Scourge and trolls sounded suspiciously like a rock and a hard place.

A massive, stone staircase soon dominated the road ahead of them. Even from a distance, it was unmistakably troll.

They walked the roof of the world and beheld cultures so vastly different from the whole of Azeroth, but certain elements of the troll empires remained the same. The same style of complex carvings and geometric shapes decorated the stones. Una knew there were even more intricate levels of detail than she could see. Each step closer would unveil a different level of detail. Stylized animals in equally geometric form took center stage of the reliefs. The animals were different, the symbols, but much remained the same.

No, it was the vastness that was staggering. She had walked the Amani Range during her rehabilitation and seen fortified city of Zul'Aman from afar. The primitive city had sprawled for miles, reaching deep into the mountains. That paled in comparison. There was no doubt in her mind they faced an empire.

High above, the sky was darkening. It was growing ever colder. Wisps of dark clouds streaked the crisp blue sky with inky darkness. Dark storm clouds boiled above the troll empire of Zul'Drak, seemingly contained by the boundaries of the stone wall.

"This is it," she could hear Anaru say to Hakander. "No more smooth sailing."

Vesper seemed to agree. Beneath her, the stallion had a case of nerves. His tail swished constantly and his ears had pricked sharply forward.

"Breathe." Una whispered to the horse, rubbing and patting him on the neck. It was more for her own sake, but it felt good saying it.

Crude troll structures started appearing among the trees. At first nothing but modest, wooden huts with pine-thatched roofs. Larger, multi-level wooden buildings followed – possibly dwellings of chieftains or important figures. Finally, the wooden huts gave way to stone buildings with intricate decorations.

However, it was quiet. An odd, deathly quiet.

Una wasn't sure when it happened, but blue-skinned trolls appeared beside the road. These weren't the proud trolls she was expecting. These were wretched, some pallid, all clothed in rags even by troll standards. Some trolls were clearly elders, though now their once exotic regalia hung ruined upon their bodies. Many were injured, others clearly ill.

Then there was the smell.

It was fact: trolls stank. Their sweat was legendary for its foulness and their breath was a running gag even among the trolls themselves. Even Faraji, as cleanly as the priest was, had a certain malodor that seemed inescapable.

No, the overwhelming stench was foul even for trolls. The smell of sickness was clear, but there was something even more foul. The High Elf couldn't quite identify the cause or origin of the odor, but it permeated this section of forest.

Desperate troll hands started to reach out, heavily accented troll voices pleading for help. The trolls – these _Drakkari_ – weren't happy about it, either. Most appeared reticent about approaching, much less speaking to the outsiders marching through their home. They would have to be very desperate indeed to approach the army.

"Commoners." Dutton commented half under his breath.

"Aye," agreed Bergi. "And refugees."

"Help us!" A female voice spoke to her left, hesitant but still distraught. A hideous, blue haired Drakkari female had stepped forward, a pallid baby swaddled in ragged cloth perched upon her hip. Una's pulse quickened the compulsion to ask what she could do poised upon her lips.

"Steady, lass." Bergi urged.

"There's no warriors!" Una retorted without thinking. The lack of able-bodied males was very noticeable.

The battle-cleric didn't even look at her. He was focusing on the space between his horse's ears. "Doesn't mean there aren't any."

He was right, of course. But it didn't mean she had to like it.

The young woman glanced behind her as the troll mother pleaded to other soldiers. Her heart ached as the female gently pulled her necklace of bone and knotted cord from her child's grasp. Una had seen very similar scenes played out many times in Stormwind…

Ahead, another army had passed through recently. A standard marked their passage. Shaped like a dark sword, the banner was emblazoned with vivid blue sigils. No trolls dared stand close to those ominous standards.

Her heart froze. Visceral fear rushed through her like an electric shock, stealing breath from her lungs. "Oh… shit!" Una hissed.

The Ebon Blade forces weren't far ahead of them. Death Knights.

Una cursed again, suddenly anxious. A sense of dread settled upon her, worse than any she had felt thus far. Death Knights seemed to have a tenuous grip on the concepts of restraint and compassion at best. She fretted, her mind playing out scenarios each worse than the next.

It wasn't long until they were upon them. The undead knights had paused in their march on the broad square before the stairs. Easily hundreds of Deathchargers stood in perfect formation, hooves burning with that horrible blue fire and ominous dark barding. Upon them sat their dark masters. Every race to fall to the Scourge were counted among their numbers. Some former enemies and others former allies, but all brothers and sisters in undeath.

"Draw that gun, Private, and we will have words." Hakander growled.

Una almost retorted that she didn't have a gun; she currently bore the hammer Ashal had given her. Her hands were nowhere near any of her weapons, for that matter. Her shield and mace hung upon Vesper's flank, and she had never successfully drawn the dagger housed in her boot while mounted.

"Breathe." Rune muttered beside her. From his tone, it was an order.

"Can I trust that you will maintain discipline among our dark brothers, Private Donovan?" Hakander asked sternly.

Donovan was acerbic as he replied, "Yes, Sir."

"Private Whitebrook?" Una startled as Hakander raised his voice to address her as well.

"Yes, Sir!" The High Elf said crisply in reply, careful to adjust her tone. Truth of the matter, she all but trembled with anger. With rage. With terror. With seething memories of helplessness. With the Draenei's assumption and insinuation that she was cut from the same cloth as that foul, little cockroach.

The Knights of the Ebon Blade seemed satisfied with the approach. There was no pause in the march as they ascended the giant stair. Two armies flowed and became one.

Motion to her right, beyond Bergi and the others. A champron made of dark metal and decorated with forward sweeping horns entered her peripheral vision. Una stiffened, looking off to the side with her eyes without moving her head. A horrible, blue glow came from where the horse's eye should be.

The young woman grit her teeth, willing herself to a calm she knew she couldn't achieve.

Vesper's time with the Blood Knights became manifest. He used to react violently when Deathchargers were near. Torn between the instinct to flee and his training to fight, he had been unpredictable around the unliving. Now the stallion didn't even twitch. Didn't even seem to notice the reanimated horse mere feet away.

The row ahead of her reached the stairs and then it was her turn. Vesper tossed his head and ground his teeth against the bit, but gave no further indication of his displeasure. Stairs such as these were not built for horses, not designed to accommodate their passage. Yet her beloved charger found his footing with ease.

If only the same could be said for his mistress. Una felt as though her heart were flinging itself against her ribcage like a terrified bird.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Una gazed dispassionately at the fields surrounding them. She had been hoping the Drakkari lands at least had the wild beauty of the Amani lands, but that wasn't to be. Sickly yellow sedge and trees with vicious thorns and foliage the color of dried blood greeted her eyes. Occasional spears of blue-green pine were the only similarities she could find.

Unnatural green storm clouds boiled above. Una felt her lip curl. She hadn't had to deal with hostile trolls as often as others did, but yet this just reeked of foul magic. This wasn't the benign voodoo magic Faraji handled. His pagan gods were the ones of the Zandalari and his chosen _loa_ benevolent.

The command to halt echoed through the army and they came to a stop beneath the boughs of a massive tree.

"Thornwood." Rune commented loudly. "Burns pink and it's as sharp as it looks. You've been warned."

The Death Knights started to move once more, coming to congregate a few hundred yards away. Una took a deep breath to calm herself. With any luck, they were going to keep moving. Indeed, moments later large groups broke off and rode into the woods.

Another shouted command went up and the officers rode to a spot a short distance away. Una eyed her cousin even as she made room so Rune could make his way over as well. The officers dismounted and stood in a close semicircle.

"Well, now, ain't this just th' most lovely place ye ever laid eyes on." Una heard Ludger remark sarcastically.

"Pipe down, fireplug!" Cornelia said sharply, "I'm trying to listen."

Whatever she was trying to listen to, Una couldn't hear. She could hear their voices, occasionally a contextless syllable or word. It was probably a briefing with assignments and instructions for setting up their first base camp.

Josie abruptly squeaked in alarm and ducked in her saddle. Una jerked to look skyward, her hand darting to the grip of her hammer.

A swarm of bats wheeled overhead like a living cloud. They spun and dove, coming back around once more before vanishing into the trees overhead. Una frowned as she watched the spot where they'd gone for further movement. She would have thought it was too cold for bats, yet here they were.

"I don't think you're on the menu, Corporal Turner." Una called to the human softly.

Josie glared and so did Cornelia, though not without a smirk managing to sneak past first.

"Private Whitebrook!" Rune called sharply. The briefing seemed to be over. Ashal and Hakander were consulting a map before each began calling troops to them. McCall, Domhnall, and Ludger were already making their way over to one of the siege tanks.

Confused, Una made her way over to the healer.

"Yes, sir?"

"I will be accompanying Lieutenant Hakander on reconnaissance." Rune said in his usual cheerful way. "I'm placing the deployment of the field hospital in your capable hands."

Una stared at him blankly, not quite comprehending what the Sin'dorei had just said. It sounded as though he'd just delegated the setup of the field hospital to _her_. "Sir! I've… I never… I don't have the…"

Rune sighed and interrupted gently, "Then this shall be good experience for you. If necessary, ask any of our veterans for advice. Those assisting in the setup will report to you until my return."

Una's head swam, but she nodded her understanding.

"Yes, I'm giving you power – Ancestors help us." Rune chuckled as he mounted his charger. "Now, say "thank you" before I regain my sanity and send _you_ on the reconnaissance instead."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Una stammered.

"Do be careful." Rune said pointedly, turning his horse around to face Hakander's group. "I have no desire to hear of how you injured yourself upon my return."

"You too!" Una replied quickly.

She gulped nervously as they rode off. What the devil just happened? Soldiers reporting to her?

There were a lot of soldiers waiting for her and even more provisions waiting to be moved by the moment. Blessed Ancestors, was this really happening?

Una swallowed again, her anxiety growing with each step. She dismounted and handed Vesper's reins to a jarringly young recruit. Each step to the troops felt like an eternity.

"Ah… All.. alright, let's get this started!" Una said, her voice failing her. She had to repeat herself twice before a gray haired soldier put his fingers to his lips and belted out an ear-piercing whistle. He pointed down at her with one gloved hand.

"Alright, let's get this started." Una repeated again nervously. "I want the field hospital in the field just east of the stairs and off the road."

It was a sheltered location, backed up against the massive wall to the south. On the east, ruins blocked approach from the thick forest beyond. The forest would block the worst wind. To her horror, she caught herself looking at the elder soldier for approval. The human winked at her.

Most of her instructions came out as meek, diffident half-questions, but soon enough it was blessedly over. She delegated more than she probably should have to various soldiers, though the veteran who whistled for her hadn't seemed to think it was an issue.

Una took a steadying breath and hefted two sizable bags intended for the officer and clerk. Each bag contained a collapsible desk containing all the paperwork each role would need to facilitate operations. Seeing as how she was in charge, it was probably up to her to make sure they reached their destination.

The bags were quite heavy, but no worse than the bags Ash and Rune had her carry in the mountains. She'd be happy to put them down, but at least she could prove she wasn't as weak as she sounded.

Each heavy step felt remarkably good. The exertion chased away her insecurities, the burn in her muscles searing away the doubts. She'd feel better once her real duties began, she just knew it.

She slipped a little on the snow as she took her next step. The snow was starting to get compacted and slippery. However, the pavers ahead were just dark and wet looking. Once she got there, it wouldn't be so bad. She took careful steps, edging her way closer to the bare roadway.

At last, she took a step onto those darkened pavers.

Her foot flew out from under her. Una suddenly found herself staring at the red-leaved branches of the Thornwood trees high above, slowly sliding to a stop. Even fully armored, her back was awash in pain and little grains of white sparkled in her vision. She lay where she fell, trying to catch her breath.

Her shoulders ached from the straps pulled taut around her arms. Her hammer dug ferociously into the leathers covering the inside of her elbow and forced her back into an uncomfortable arch.

"You!" A human male barked some distance away; an officer she assumed. "Since you seem to prefer the role of nursemaid – deal with the _lady_."

Una cringed. And there went the bubble. At least the human hadn't said anything about "jack-rabbit" ears or any of the other foolish and racist remarks she'd heard over the years. It was, however, a veiled insult on the perceived physical weakness of the elves.

Another male voice distantly acknowledged the speaker and heavy steps crunched in the snow.

Una tried to rise, but her hammer, the weight of her armor, and the black ice still partially beneath her made it too difficult. She was cold and now she was sore. The High Elf knew she'd feel worse in the morning. She'd be shocked if her entire back wasn't one, gigantic bruise by then.

"By the Light, I hate the snow!" Una exclaimed, more to herself than the person coming to help. She untangled her arms from the straps, her arms and shoulders aching as the weight on them eased.

The nearing footsteps paused and a male chuckle followed. The quiet laughter_ echoed_ unnaturally, as though it had to cross a vast distance to reach her ears though the one laughing was only feet away now.

Una froze, a hissed curse erupting from her lips. A human Death Knight crouched beside her, once again chuckling.

"Get away from me, you monster!" Una snarled, throwing all her weight into trying to roll away from him. Her hammer hung up on something beneath her and halted the movement.

"I won't hurt you." The undead human said, offering her a gauntleted hand.

Una stared at the offered hand a moment and slapped it away, trying once more to right herself.

"In full plate," the knight observed both gently and in amusement. "You're like a turtle on its back." He offered his hand once more.

It felt as though she was right back in the Plaguelands, fighting for her life against the endless tide of unliving. The soulless laughter as the orc female Death Knight taunted Garrick. The Death Knight at Winterveil. The screams of the revelers as they fought for their lives against the undead.

The Death Knight regarded her silently a moment before his voice assumed an impossible gentleness, "Come on." He wriggled his fingers to her in a beckoning gesture. "Let me help you up."

Oh, he'd _help_ her, all right. The same way her Great Uncle had helped her to Anaru by seizing her by the hair and flinging her at him.

"We're on the same side." The Death Knight persisted, "I give you my word: I will not harm you."

Dubiously, Una accepted the hand. The Knight's grasp tightened and he pulled her to feet. As she started to slip once again, he brusquely pulled her into the snow.

"A bit of advice: From now on, you should wear your crampons." The Knight informed her, lifting a foot to show her wicked, downward facing spikes lashed to the bottom of his boot.

Una jerked her arm free and stepped rapidly away from him.

"I gave you my word I wouldn't harm you." Said the Death Knight, irritation entering his voice. "You're my ally."

"Yeah, right!" Una snapped, "Death Knights would kill their own family given the chance!"

The unliving human stiffened and replied softly, "Mind your tongue." He stressed each word as he spoke, leveling his baleful gaze upon her.

"Oh, what? Did your brother scream, "Please don't kill me!" as you ran him through?" Una sneered at the undead thing before her. A fool was what he was to believe she would actually take orders from him.

"I wasn't _allowed_ to kill him." The monstrosity didn't move from his chosen patch of snow, but malice seemed to pour from the dark, armored figure, "You have no such protection, my lady."

"Come, then." Una pulled her hammer from its place on her back, "I tired of your kind a long time ago."

The Knight simply stood there, silently regarding her with an unreadable gaze. She couldn't see anything but those burning eyes. His stance was relaxed, but ready. He seemed to be hesitating, if anything.

"What? Are you afraid?" Una demanded, "I slew scores of Scourge when I was almost dead myself!"

The undead man finally seemed to tear himself from his silence, "An infant would have more bite than you. I find it highly unlikely one that cannot stand on her own feet would be any good in battle. No, I am not afraid of you."

Una startled at the unexpected remark. Did he just call her a liar _and_ a weakling? Her hammer sang through the air.

The Death Knight stepped forward swiftly. He slapped her arm, sending the blow downwards. Her momentum carried her through. The leather-wrapped handle tore itself from her gloved hands. With a savage kick, he sent the hammer spinning across the ice.

Una struck out with her elbow, but the Knight ducked backwards. One cold gauntlet closed around her wrist, spinning her around. His other hand smacked her face soundly as she came back around.

Una recovered, coming back around with a punch. He deflected her blow.

Then his gauntlet snapped out like a viper. Hard fingers closed around her neck. Her gorget pressed firmly into her throat as he lifted upwards.

It was difficult to breathe, but not impossible. It enough to make her distinctly fearful. She couldn't yell for help. It would be all but impossible to cast anything, much less anything helpful.

Una pedaled her feet wildly in midair, trying in vain to kick him. She tried to find a grip on one of his fingers to break it, but those fingers might as well have been made of steel. The High Elf brought her fists together and slammed them into his arm. All to no avail.

"So devout, to wear the Symbol of the Holy Light." The Death Knight said darkly, mocking her as she struggled against his grasp, "You should have been a priestess after all."

"And what would you know…?" The High Elf grit out.

"I wasn't always one of the damned." The dead human growled pointedly. Then the gauntlet opened. Una yelped in surprise as she dropped to the ground.

Una sat there sucking in breaths. He was storming away, unholy rage emanating from his entire armored form. To her great shame, tears of rage were streaming down her cheeks.

Una shivered and dabbed her running nose with the back of her glove. It came away bloody. Not surprising, but still frustrating. Not only was she lying in the snow crying, she was doing it with a bloody nose too.

Snow and ice crunched as someone else approached. She knew that walk. Knew the purposefulness of the gait and the lightness in which the steps met the ground despite the weight of armor and gear. She shivered again, this time in relief.

Anaru held out his gloved hand. Una took a deep breath and accepted the assistance.

She dabbed her nose again, pivoting around to look for her hammer.

"You raised your weapon against an ally." Anaru stated without preamble.

Una spun back to face her cousin in shock. "No… No, sir!" She stammered, "He started…"

"No, I was watching." Anaru interrupted curtly with a wave of his hand. "You most certainly started it. Private, the Ebon Blade are our allies – we _need_ their strength in this war!"

"No! He called me a liar and…" Una had to make him see, make him understand. He had been at her side during her recovery and again while they made their stand during Winterveil. He himself had nearly attacked the monster that Great Uncle Lorandil had become. Anaru, of all people, had to understand!

"Shut up!" Anaru barked and stepped forward, his own face scant inches from her own. "Private, I think we've been overly generous with you. This is unacceptable! Put on your big girl pants or go home!" He paused, gazing at her with a severe expression, his face still alarmingly close. He finally spoke, his voice suddenly and ominously hushed, "Are we clear?"

Una had never seen Anaru like this and didn't know how to respond. She had never seen him so angry. It took every ounce of self-control to hold back the shudder that wanted to run the length of her spine. Every fiber to keep fresh tears from flowing. Everything to utter a crisp, "Yes, sir."

Anaru stepped back and regarded her with a curious look upon his face. Una didn't know what to think of the expression so close to both bewilderment and anger. "I expect the field hospital assembled by nightfall. You _will_ accept assistance from whoever is assigned."

"Yes, Sir."

"Dismissed." Anaru said sternly, nodding in the direction of the troops she had been assigned.

Una gathered up the bags and retrieved her hammer all the while fighting a losing war to keep her emotions in check. She nearly slipped once more, but was able to steady herself using her hammer.

"And for Light's sake, put on your damn crampons!" Anaru bellowed after her.

Hours passed and passed again, only the steady march of the sun across the heavens marking time. Neat rows of gray tents marked with gold stars bloomed upon the frozen soil like Spring flowers. There was an endless stream of troops funneling through with provisions and equipment. There were cots to be set up, stockrooms to be filled, and various medical units set up. Idling engines came and went as siege tanks filed into neat, even rows as a defensive perimeter.

It was all something she had never done before in her life. She didn't have Dutton, Bergi, or any of the other healers in her platoon to ask – they were all out on assignments. No healer or medic in the army currently wore anything identifying them as such for safety. How many soldiers would she have to ask before she found a fellow medic? She was terrified of letting Anaru down, but even more frightened of asking him for direction. He had never spoken that way to her before. Each hour that passed, the dread grew. Was she even doing this right? Or was she setting herself up to earn yet another dressing down?

The sun set and the moon rose. Una couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop working. If she ever had a need to excel at anything, it was here and now.

Hakander eventually came and relieved her of her duties for the day. No comfort would come from the Draenei, no validation. He was every bit as cold as the snows around her. Una felt too defeated to even try to find Rune.

She trudged back to camp, forcing herself to keep her head high. A part of her wanted to be ashamed; despite feeling she had nothing to be ashamed about. Death Knights, even supposedly redeemed, were still vile and their loyalties paper-thin. Rune assigned the hospital to an inexperienced medic – if they wanted perfection, they should have given the task to someone else.

The truth was simple: she was furious and exhausted. Plus, she had no idea where her things were.

Bitter fantasies played out in her head. Her things lashed to the top of a tree or left in a puddle. Perhaps covered in manure. Some of the guards had "initiated" many of the newcomers as such.

_Crybaby._ Just the barest thought brought the gibe back, fresh and painful as the day it was first uttered. _Weak._ The Death Knight's jab about her not being able to stand on her own was another old taunt. Back then, she couldn't retaliate even if she'd wanted to. Once again, she probably couldn't do anything about anything anyone said or did. If she couldn't convince her own cousin…

Una's eyes fell upon a familiar-looking tent as she stormed by, giving her a momentary pause. It looked like _her_ tent. Indeed, neatly stitched letters spelled out "Whitebrook, Una" upon the flap. Una peeked inside. Yes, it was her tent. The familiar gray bedroll was already spread out; the plaid flannel blanket; her packs and spare weapons. Her lantern was lit and the small, magical stone was already warming the air within. Someone had set her tent up for her?

Ash was sitting in front of the tent next to hers, peeling an orange. The black haired elf picked away with his closely trimmed fingernails, only managing to take off small bits of peel at a time.

He nodded a greeting. Of all her platoon's officers, the typically angry, brooding elf actually looked the calmest. He seemed grounded suddenly.

"Did… Sir? Did you…?" Una stammered, flustered as her anger evaporated.

The Sin'dorei nodded without a word.

Still flustered, Una stammered her thanks and cast her gaze at the ground. After a moment, she asked quietly, "Where's the Captain?"

"Patrol." Ash replied. He didn't sound annoyed or bored for once. He merely answered. No sarcasm or hyperbole. Merely the answer.

Relieved, Una once again cast her gaze at the ground. She was terrified of what Anaru might say when he returned. However, for the moment that inevitable exchange was delayed. Anaru was off somewhere on horseback, brooding and alone with his thoughts.

"… Do not test them," The elder paladin advised quietly.

"With all due respect, sir," Una said quietly, "that could apply to several… in multiple arenas…"

"Indeed." Ashal said, seeming to at last give up on peeling the orange with his fingers. He drew his dagger from his boot and began to cut the orange into wedges. "But I think you know quite well who I'm referring to."

"Yes, sir." Una replied quietly. After a moment, she added with a trembling voice, "I'm so frustrated! Why?"

"Soldiers have different ways of preparing themselves for war and the eventual casualties. Some become quiet, others cope with anger, and others by avoiding attachment." The dark haired Sin'dorei gazed up at her, his eyes locked with her own. "Their anger is not at you, but at the events we shall soon face."

"Is that why you're being a hard ass?" The question tumbled from her lips unbidden. Una inwardly recoiled and cringed. Did she really just ask her superior officer that question?

To her immense relief, Ashal chuckled. "Hardly. I have stood at this threshold before." The Sin'dorei offered no further explanation. Instead, he nodded to her tent, "Rest while you can. Tomorrow will be brutal."

Una nodded gratefully, "Good night, sir."

A nasal sound of acknowledgement was the closest thing to a "good night" she got in return. It would do.

Her tent was a welcome respite after the day's events. She lay back upon her bedroll and breathed a sigh of relief. Blessed Ancestors, it felt wonderful. She was so sore!

The high elf started to strip out of her armor, wincing at all the places that hurt. Fighting hadn't even started and she hurt. Part of her wanted so desperately to cry and yet she felt too tired to actually cry.

Just when she thought she was getting stronger, a day like today reminded her of how soft she still was. How did that Death Knight _know_?

Una growled at herself. That Death Knight had probably just made a lucky guess. She was overthinking things _again _and dwelling on the past.

Una reached up, turned off her lamp, and rolled onto her stomach. Sleep found her quickly.

Exhausting dreams replayed the events of the day, rehashing everything from her humiliating encounter with the Death Knight to the assembly of the hospital. The dreams played out scenarios over and over like a broken gnomish contraption.

"We're under attack!"

The cry was electrifying. Una scrambled from her tent, her hammer held at the ready. Screams. Unearthly screams echoed in the darkness. Una spun, trying to locate the enemy.

The forest reeked. It smelled as though the villages had been cooking something foul. It smelled so sweet it was vile, adding to the stench that still permeated the forest. If not for that sickening sweetness, it might have smelled like some kind of confection.

"With me!" Ashal bellowed at her side. His teeth were bared, his sword held ready.

Trolls. She could see them now. Nightmarish in the bloody gleam of the fires. Nightmarish in tribal masks already flecked with blood. They surged the camp like a locust swarm.

He was leading her into the fray. Not far away, a proud daughter of Ironforge was fighting two trolls at once.

It was as though she was of two minds once again. There was no horror, merely calm. No hesitation, only purpose. It was as though another woman cried the words of the Blessing of Kings, encircling and strengthening the other paladin. Ash barely paused in his purposeful step, the wind muffling his words as he recited a blessing of his own.

A victorious shout. Metal flashed in the firelight. The dwarven woman crumpled. One of the trolls turned. The savage took up his spear and threw.

Ash skipped out of the way. The swiftly rushing spear struck empty pavers. The elder paladin stood his ground as the troll warriors charged in, axes held high. The warriors' style was strange and unpredictable. Ash brought his sword around, blocking the blow meant for his head. Light spun around him like shooting stars, forcing the other back.

Una saw the flash of a dagger. The troll wasn't even turning. It was aimed at her! She lashed the Drakkari with a holy shock. The throw went wide.

Night turned to day as a human paladin entered the fray. The larger of the pair didn't notice until it was too late. The newcomer's sword found purchase in the troll's side, the steel parting tribal armor and flesh. Bright steel sprouted through the Drakkari's chest.

It should have brought the troll to his doom. Blood flowed over beaded tribal armor to the icy pavers. Beady, bloodshot eyes fixated on the paladin as the troll ripped the sword free with a sickening noise. A horrible grin spread across the troll's face.

Despite the severity of his wounds, the troll was very much alive. Faraji had grimly told her some of the tricks of the witchdoctors. He'd mentioned drugs that allowed a desperate warrior to fight through mortal wounds. Una never dreamed she'd see it firsthand.

It was a fatal distraction. Ash raised his own massive sword, cleaving through the troll's neck. The head toppled from the body and rolled across the ground.

Even as the first troll fell, the other seemed to grow in size and strength. Ash and the other paladin circled and weaved.

The blows came ever quicker. More unpredictable.

One moment, he hammered Ash with thundering blows. The next, he lashed wildly at the other paladin. Una backpedaled quickly as the Drakkari focused on her, slashing wildly.

Tired of her, he spun. The axe flashed in the firelight, coming down in an overhead cleave. Ash lunged out of the way, rolling on his shoulders and back to his feet.

Una chanted spells, mending any wounds and periodically lashing the troll with a holy shock.

A low, stuttered moan. Casting her gaze to the side, the High Elf spotted the wounded soldier. The dwarven woman was curling into a fetal position. She was alive! Una circled, keeping a wary eye on her surroundings.

Una crouched beside the dwarf, pouring healing energy into the injured soldier. She didn't check to see what had been done; she couldn't see the wounds well anyway. Instead, she let the Light seek the source of the blood.

The troll was coming again. She couldn't leave!

The firelight was eclipsed by a massive form. A large, rectangular wall shield blocked her view of the troll. Hakander glanced back over his shoulder at her and nodded.

The Draenei roared taunts in his native tongue, challenging the troll. He charged, his hooves thundering against the pavers.

Reassured, Una bent back over the wounded soldier. She called upon the Light once again, letting it rise within her. She let it flow into the wounded soldier.

"Incoming!" Cornelia shouted from somewhere in the darkness.

As if in answer, more Drakkari battle-cries echoed in the night. Una glanced up, stricken, as more trolls surged into camp from the north. They were coming in from both sides!

A hand landed upon her shoulder. Una yelped, raising her hammer to defend herself.

Someone grabbed the shaft, stopping her swing before she could get momentum behind it. The other paladin stood before her, his white and gold armor splattered with blood.

Wreathed in holy fire, Ashal and the Hakander stood between the swiftly incoming Drakkari and her. At their side stood the other members of her platoon, each holding their weapons at the ready.

"You have a name, soldier?" Ash shouted back to the human paladin.

"Warrant Officer Landon Frost, Sir!" The paladin replied loudly as he dragged the wounded soldier backwards.

"Be ready!" Ash bellowed.

A thunderous explosion. Una dove, covering the wounded soldier with her body. Another. And another. The staccato retort of gunfire resounded like a barrage of firecrackers during the Lunar Festival.

The familiar whine and drone of steamtank engines came close. Una looked up. It was Domhnall's tank. The barrel adjusted with a steam-powered whine and then fired with a retort that shook her to her core.

Trembling, Una tentatively rose from her protective position. The siege tanks were unleashing an artillery barrage at the incoming Drakkari.

There were fewer now. Few, if any of the attacks were making it through the shelling alive. Those lucky enough to survive surged into the camp, their raptors' teeth and claws slashing at those caught in their way.

They were coming ever closer.

Something massive leapt into the camp. Una heard the tortured scream of claws raking across metal.

Cornelia bellowed, roaring like an angry she-dragon. Her massive swords held before her.

The Drakkari paused. The savage gave a roar of his own and charged.

Una jumped to her feet, chanting defensive spells as mounted warrior bore down on Cornelia. Light wreathed Cornelia in a shroud, a protective shield that shielded the human from the Drakkari.

Hakander roared. Holy fire blazed around him as he charged in himself.

Light sang upon the night air, as brilliant as the rising sun. Una couldn't see through the combined might of the paladin spells.

To her horror, she could vaguely sense undeath from the troll they fought. The Scourge were here! Not across the valley or down in the fields – here! Death-tinged, the warrior was fighting through mortal wounds and would soon slip into undeath.

There was no pause. The dying troll didn't seem to notice his wounds or the moment he seamlessly became unliving. Desperate, bent on the ruin of his foes, he kept swinging his weapon even as muscle and sinew was rent by spell and blade.

As quickly as it happened, the dead troll fell under the onslaught of Light and was finally still.

Una pressed her fingers to the dwarven woman's carotid artery. Her pulse was so weak, even after being healed. The Light had bought her time, but not much. The wounds were reopening. How was that even possible? After what she'd just seen, Una was scared. She called upon the Light again, willing it to mend the soldier's broken body.

The cries of the Drakkari warriors were subsiding. Order was rapidly returning. However, there still could be unseen trolls in the darkness. Argent Crusade and Ebon Blade soldiers swarmed the camp, methodically searching for hidden trolls.

"Ash!" Una exclaimed, "We're going to lose her if we don't get to the hospital!"

The Sin'dorei glanced back at her. For the span of a few heartbeats, indecision flickered across his face.

"Go!" Hakander thundered.

"Frost! Randall! You're with us!" Ash barked as dragged the unconscious dwarf over his shoulder, "Mountainhand! Cover us!"

"Yes, Sir!" Dom's voice boomed from the siege tank.

Landon and Cornelia joined them as they ran. The hospital was only a thousand yards away, but at that moment, it felt like miles.

Unearthly equine screams exploded in the darkness. Terror coursed through her as though she'd been struck by lightning. Una felt her knees give out. She tripped and slid to a stop on the cold ground.

Landon ran back for her. He draped her arm over his shoulders and took hold of her wrist. His other hand grasped her side as he lifted her to her feet.

Death Knights and Argent Crusaders galloped past. Una took several deep breaths to steady herself, but only felt more unsteadied. The world spun like a top.

"Light help us," Landon cried to Ash and Cornelia as they hurried to catch up. "It's a culling!"

Una didn't understand. The trolls had attacked, but that was standard troll behavior. Trolls were just like that. They were rash and unpredictable; violent and territorial. Besides, it was a small village and desperate. Precious supplies were within their grasp. However foolhardy, who could blame them? The warriors were dead and the remainders were harmless civilians.

Whatever Ash said was lost to the wind and the engines of the tanks as they finally raced through the perimeter.

"No! We have to stop them!" Una cried, trying to tear herself from the human's grasp. But Landon's grasp tightened, his fingers digging in to her side.

Medics rushed out to meet Ash, a stretcher held at the ready. He gently lowered the dwarf onto the stretcher.

"Need another!" He barked to the medics, reaching out to take Una from Frost.

"I'm fine!" Una pulled away from them, stepping rapidly away as more medics emerged with another stretcher. "We have to stop the culling!"

"The village is lost." Ash declared, reaching out to her. "All that can be done now is to stop the Scourge from claiming them."

Una shook her head, stepping backwards once again. The troll warriors had been very much alive when they first attacked.

"Private, what you smell is the Plague of Undeath." Landon added grimly.

"They're already dead." Cornelia stated matter-of-factly.

Una shook her head, unable to process what she was being told. It had just been that one troll. Just one. Shouted orders to scrub in echoed throughout the tents. Una shook her head once more at Ash, Cornelia, and Landon.

Above the wall shone the bloody gleam of fires. It could only mean the village had caught on fire. Distant screams and the sounds of battle carried over the coiled square parapets. Even more distantly, though she was certain she was imagining it, came a roar of victory from the north.

The Scourge had won this battle and they'd done it for them.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks again to KooriRoninHeart for proofreading my story! Love you, Sis! Also thanks again to Rooietroll for your wonderful and thoughtful review!


	18. Chapter 18: Pyre

**Chapter 18 – Pyre**

* * *

"Have you been at this all night?" Cornelia's groggy question broke Una from her intense study.

Una looked up from the voluminous tome before her. The muscular human female stood framed by the rough, mobile bookcases filled with other medical texts, wrapped in a drab hospital blanket and rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Yes," Una replied, though not without a bit of annoyance. "Where else would I be?"

The dwarf female from the night before and three other soldiers who had come in that morning had been poisoned by an unknown substance. That was why her healing had been ineffective; that was why the woman's vitals had been so strange. Their symptoms were all the same, so it was likely they were dealing with the same toxin. Now they had a very limited time to figure out what they'd been poisoned with. The anti-venom they had on hand been largely ineffective. They were running out of time.

Now that the fighting was over, the wounded cared for; Una had joined the effort to learn what they were dealing with. It was somewhat frightening. Poison was a topic covered exhaustively in her training. Some of her former instructors were here working side-by-side with renowned alchemists. Between everyone here, herself included, they should have figured it out hours ago.

Landon had already come by with her cloak and much the same start to their conversation. However, that conversation had eventually taken a more useful turn. The human pointed out the Drakkari worshiped a snake god, which had immediately given them at least an idea of where to start. He was out trying to locate the throwing knife the troll had thrown at her from the night before for testing.

"Una, please." The human stepped forward and leaned on the desk. The former Southshore resident was easily stronger and more muscular than many men were. Cornelia filled the narrow space, unintentionally looming. Her hair was down for the first time since they'd been on the ship and yellow-brown tresses fell like waterfalls over her broad shoulders. "I'm saying this to you as a friend, not a fellow soldier or superior. You need take a break."

"Cornelia, you don't get it." Una said. "Do you know how many species of venomous snakes are in and around Stormwind's provinces?"

"I would prefer not." The human replied. "But I imagine you're about to tell me."

"Five." Una stated firmly. "How about spiders? Insects? Plants? I can tell you those too."

Cornelia pinched the bridge of her nose, "So what's your point?"

"The point is: Some of Stormwind's best poison researchers are in these tents and they don't know what we're dealing with!" Una exclaimed. "It's causing the patients to bleed internally like a hemotoxin, but causing the pain and progressive edema of a cytotoxin. However, there are other symptoms that are completely unlike those toxins or even known hybrid toxins. I've never seen anything like it!"

The woman scrunched up her face and then shook her head, "Okay, pretending I know what you just said. Can't you just purge it?"

Una sighed and just stared at the other woman. "Sure, let me get right on it after I manage to walk on water."

Cornelia rolled her eyes, "I saw a Death Knight doing that, want me to get him?"

Una glared at the warrior.

Cornelia ignored the look, "Take a look around. See the other people here?" The human swept her hand out dramatically to indicate other healers as they darted in and out of sight, "They're healers too."

"Landon might be back soon with something for me." Una replied hurriedly, hoping in vain that Cornelia would give up. She wasn't ready to face Anaru – not yet.

The stout woman replied impatiently, "Anyone can run that knife to Finklestein, Una. I'd be shocked if Frost didn't do it himself. Please don't make me get the Captain."

"Wait, how did you –?" Una started to ask and then groaned in exasperation as the most logical answer occurred to her. "Look, you don't need to get him because it's a non-issue. I'm fine! I don't need a break! I'm not sick or injured! I'm where I'm _supposed _to be!"

The warrior rolled her eyes and then gazed at her with a withering look. The old Una would have wilted and caved under that fixed stare. However, she wasn't here.

"Dutton's cooking this morning." Cornelia finally taunted in a singsong manner, crossing her arms over her buxom chest. Dutton, before war and plague, had run a lively tavern somewhere in Lordaeron. His food was always very good.

Una raised a skeptical eyebrow and sighed, "Ah… threats not working, so let's try bribery?"

"Well, if bribing doesn't work, I can always resort to kidnapping." Cornelia replied without missing a beat.

Una sighed. She wasn't getting away from the human woman easily. Frankly, she _was_ a little hungry. The elf halfheartedly flipped the page, half skimming a page dedicated to the serpents of Zul'Gurub. The text, though fairly recent, still approached the pagan troll gods with skepticism and regarded them as superstition and folklore. The only mentions of them were concerning troll culture and their role in the ritualistic creation of jungle poisons.

"See if Frost can recommend a troll specialist?" Cornelia asked, apparently reading upside-down.

"I wish I could talk to this troll priest I know; he's embedded with the eighty-fifth infantry." Una answered, pushing the book away from her and rising to her feet. "Can't get much more "specialist" than him."

There were a million ways the human woman could have replied, but instead Cornelia said, "Maybe, but what are the chances he'd be scratching his head too?"

Una picked up her cloak and shrugged it over her shoulders. The thought that Faraji wouldn't be able to help was deeply unpleasant. "He'd know what to do," the High Elf blurted.

"So write him." Cornelia replied once again without pause.

Una shook her head, "It's not that simple." The Argent Crusade had to be strategic in the deployment to make the most use of the skills they had on hand. Her friends weren't in this battalion, but in a later wave. Even if the message reached them, any reply would be delayed. "Their battalion is probably at sea. It wouldn't reach him in time."

They picked their way through the tent, moving carefully among rows of beds. Wounded were already starting to come in as skirmishes with the local trolls escalated quickly.

Rune moved among them, a figure of calm in the midst of a storm. Even amid all the chaos and yesterday's skirmish, he managed medics and patients with an ease that made Una feel distinctly lacking. She'd failed him yesterday, though he hadn't said a thing.

Una saluted him as she stepped forward.

Rune returned the salute and chuckled, "Someone finally convinced you to take a break?"

"Just for some food, Sir." Una replied quickly.

"Take time to rest as well." Rune stated firmly, putting his hands on his hips.

Una knew better than try to argue with him and simply replied, "Yes, Sir."

The red-blond healer paused, his face screwed up in an unconvinced expression that turned to displeasure. Why was he looking at her like that? Una fought to keep from fidgeting, even though she knew him well enough to know he would ignore it.

"Randall, do make certain she rests. She can be quite stubborn." Rune said with a sudden amiability, "I fear she's much like our Captain in that regard."

"Don't worry, sir. I'll rock her to sleep with real rocks if I have to."

Una rolled her eyes, exasperated.

Rune uttered a sound of disapproval, as though she were a naughty child, "No, Private. You shall rest or we shall have words." And with that, he raised his eyebrows expectantly at the taller woman beside her.

Cornelia needed no further urging. "Yes, Sir!" She took hold of the elf's arm and pulled hard enough to make Una stagger, "Come on, Whitebrook!" It was a choice of walking or being dragged, so Una allowed the warrior to lead her from the tents.

The light and chill air was shocking after her night in the hospital. The smoke from the many campfires drifted lazily into the overcast sky, the aroma of wood smoke filling her nose. If not for the damage from the skirmish the night before, it'd seem almost peaceful. They'd posted more guards while she'd been inside the hospital; and, visible sentries patrolled the perimeter.

Most of her platoon was gathered around the campfire, working their way through breakfast. The soldiers Anaru had taken on patrol looked to all be present. They appeared relaxed, a good sign nothing else had happened. To her relief, Anaru himself was nowhere to be seen. Hakander and Ash sat a short distance away, conversing. In an odd role reversal, Hakander looked to be brooding, staring deeply into his tin coffee cup and Ash seemed to be stoic, but calm. Landon Frost was once again present and the center of attention.

The aroma of warm spices and baking bread made Una's stomach unexpectedly growl, as though finally reminded it hadn't been filled recently.

"Now, one thing I don't get: zombies." Ludger was saying in his rapid, excited tone. "Wouldn't all the wee carrion nasties deal with the problem before it became a problem? I ain't talkin' rats or birds, mind ye. Animals are right scared of undeath. I mean bugs an' other crawlies."

"Under normal conditions, yes." Frost replied, cradling a steaming cup between cold-reddened hands. He absently rubbed his hand up and down the sleeve of his darkened, pewter-colored mail armor. "Naturally occurring zombification only lasts for the duration of decomposition. Once a zombie reaches putrefaction, locomotion ceases as tissues lose cohesion. Under the right conditions, that duration is less than a week."

"Interesting conversation to walk into." Cornelia remarked dryly.

Frost pulled a note from his sleeve and handed it to Una as she passed without pausing. "On the other hand, zombification via necromancy usually accounts for all factors of decomposition. The spells make the corpse unappealing, slows the rate at which they consume the corpse significantly, kills, and-or actually turns the decomposers as well."

The note was simply a note from Finklestein acknowledging the knife was in his possession and he'd begin alchemical analysis immediately. Una passed the note back to the human, who plucked a cinnamon roll from his plate and handed it to her.

Una happily squeaked her thanks and tore off a hunk.

Cornelia paused behind her and chuckled wryly, "And she doesn't even blink."

Then Una blinked and shook her head, glancing back at the warrior as she sucked sticky cinnamon sauce from her thumb. "I'm sorry, come again?"

"They're talking decomposing bodies and you don't even notice!"

Una shook her head once more as she tore off another piece of cinnamon roll, not quite understanding what the fuss was about. Frost hadn't really gone into _that_ much detail. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as she chewed quickly so she could answer, "So my toxins are confusing, but you totally understood what he just said?"

"There's another batch coming off the fire in a moment." Dutton remarked, "Plenty to go around."

"Look: Do you know how many times I've had to shove my hand into dead things?" Cornelia asked emphatically.

"Greater or less than the number of times you've had to dig through piles of poop?" Una smirked as the warrior's face fell, "Seriously, Cornelia, that's all self-inflicted and I have no pity –"

"Hey, don't pay attention to Mule Ears, maybe there's some guys who are into necrophilia too!" Donovan chirped up. "I mean, if you're into that thing. Though I suppose it would be hot."

Perhaps she really was tired. The paladin knew it was an insult, but she just couldn't find anything in her now to feel incensed. Cornelia, on the other hand, gazed at Donovan in disbelief, her jaw hanging open a moment before she shut her eyes.

"And you wonder why I didn't want to leave the hospital." The young elf whispered to the statuesque human, patting her arm.

"That's not even the right word." Cornelia groaned.

Una took a seat near the fire, enjoying the pop and crackle of the campfire and the conversations drifting around her. Her group had always had good chemistry. She loved the way they acted as though they'd known one another their whole lives. The newcomers fit in remarkably well, regardless of what her cousin had told her earlier.

"So then I told him, 'Rectum? Hell! Damn near killed him!'" Bernard Kline roared loudly with a laugh. The former Scarlet was jovial, fond of puns and plays on words. He usually spoke Common with barely any accent. Talking so loudly and so energetically, Una could at last hear the Alterac accent in his voice. For some odd reason, crass statements spoken with thick accents amused her and Kline was no exception.

Ellerton groaned loudly, "Bad joke!"

"No, I prefer my men with a pulse too." Josie remarked above the din.

"Though, I have to admit," Cornelia raised her voice, repeating herself a couple times loudly before continuing, "A few of those Death Knights don't look so dead to me."

"_Well-preserved_ is more like it," Ruth stated. Her back was to Una, but the normally stern dwarven paladin seemed to be in good spirits this morning. "It's no longer a question of _real or not_ but who's the _embalmer_!"

"Leland!" Cornelia exclaimed loudly as she took her seat, shaking a raised index finger, "Leland! For a dead guy, he's pretty lively."

"Okay, okay, okay!" Josie nearly shouted, "So maybe I wouldn't mind a little down under action from him...!"

"He may or may not be shooting blanks now," Ruth shook her head from side to side in a way Una couldn't hope to reproduce, "but you know damn well he'd be shooting ice cubes!"

"Ladies, you should note he bends the other way." Ashal stated casually as he walked through, his gaze intent on Landon.

"Say what?"

"That's so hot!"

"And… how would you know?"

Ash didn't answer, but the smirk upon his face spoke volumes. That small smile vanished as he reached Landon Frost. He allowed the human to continue speaking, though he was staring at him pointedly.

"Poor lass, ye look tired." Ludger remarked very close.

Una blinked. The dwarf crouched beside her, offering a plate loaded with another steaming cinnamon bun.

"I'm sorry; I guess I zoned out." The young woman exclaimed, accepting the offered plate.

"Distracted is more like it." Dutton chuckled from the other side of the fire where he was tending the rest of their meal. "Light knows Lieutenant Orlinde knows how to get everyone's attention."

"Like ye didn't already know!" Domhnall hollered from his perch upon his steam tank.

"Una, Emberblade said to rest." Cornelia called loudly in a singsong tone. Her irritation seemed to have been short-lived. Donovan was notably and amusingly silent.

"Aye, you should. Like I always say: tis better to be wired than tired." Ludger agreed sagely. Una raised an eyebrow at him; that dwarf could swing from questionable sanity to frustratingly sensible at a moment's notice.

"Can I finish eating?" Una sighed, tearing off a chunk of the bun and tucking it into her mouth. If Dutton's attentiveness to the large pot over the fire was any indication, the rest of the meal was nearing completion. Whatever it was, it smelled hearty and delicious.

An unnerving and abrupt silence settled over the camp. Landon had stopped talking, though he remained upon his log. The tension was palpable.

"So… How is your father?" Ash asked suddenly.

"I was wondering when you'd catch on." Landon rose to his feet and the paladins embraced, laughing, heartily clapping each other on the back. In one instant, they had gone from acquaintances to what seemed like long-lost friends.

The high elf glanced around her and realized she wasn't the only one staring at the exchange.

"Now that's a little creepy." Josie remarked quietly.

"Una! Come here!" Orlinde called in uncharacteristic excitement.

Suddenly stiff, Una rose slowly from her seat near the fire and made her way over to large group surrounding Frost.

"Sir?" Una asked tentatively as she neared.

"I presume you've already met Landon Frost?" Ash began, gesturing to Landon with an outstretched hand.

"I have…" Una answered dubiously, not entirely certain what was happening.

"Ah," Ash grinned as he spoke, an uncharacteristic cheshire smile stretching across his face. "But were you aware he is none other than the son of one Daesin Sutherland?"

"Um, nice to meet you. Again." Una replied, though not without a bit of confusion. How was she supposed to know? She hadn't met many of her grandfather's former apprentices, much less their families.

"Una is Andris's granddaughter." Ashal offered.

Landon shrugged in mild embarrassment and then shot her a wink, "I figured; the resemblance is uncanny – I'm sure you get that all the time."

Ash didn't give her time to respond before he spoke, "Though, I must confess, I didn't recognize you at all."

"Well, I'm probably a bit bigger than you remember…" Landon chuckled.

"Of course. I've slept a few times since then." Ash replied cheerfully, "Though it was your surname that gave me the greatest pause."

"My parents never married." Landon replied dismissively, "Pa made a few enemies and thought it would be best for us to have Ma's name." Although Una didn't know Daesin Sutherland well, she had a hunch that it was a gross understatement for him to go to that extreme given the societal taboos.

"Ah, so that explains it. A wise decision." The dark haired Sin'dorei agreed with a nod, "Speaking of your father; I trust he is well? Anaru and I lost touch with him."

"He's well." Landon offered by way of explanation. "Finally caught _You-Know-Who_ so he's been laying low. I can't tell you much more, I'm afraid."

"No need. It's good to know his persistence was ultimately rewarded." The senior paladin held his hands out as though to block any further discussion. "Have you caught up with Anaru yet?"

"No, I haven't but not from lack of trying." Landon made a face, "I've slept a few times myself, but has he always been so…?" He seemed to struggle with the words he wished to say.

"Unfortunately." Ash briefly pinched the bridge of his nose and cast Una an apologetic glance, "He has always sought to save others, though sometimes without asking if they actually need saving. He's presently seeking to save certain individuals by removing them entirely."

Despite Ash's roundabout way of saying it, the meaning wasn't lost on Landon. The raised eyebrow gave way to an expression of sympathy. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Una shifted uncomfortably. That was just blurted out in the middle of camp for everyone to hear.

"Maybe you can request a transfer." Landon offered helpfully, "That way your commander can focus on the matters at hand."

The sudden rush of hope nearly made her startle. She hadn't been aware she could do that within the Argent Crusade, but it might just work! Anaru could concentrate and she could still be of use to the army without worrying all the time. Una looked at the human in excitement. She had so many questions; she'd never done anything like that before.

"That won't be necessary, but thank you."

Una felt her jaw drop. She looked up at Ash in shock and anger. His expression hadn't changed, but there was a tension to the Blood Elf's muscular frame.

Landon seemed to sense that his suggestion had been summarily dismissed. "So how is Talaerion these days?"

"It was great talking to you." Una muttered, slipping back to her spot by the fire.

The High Elf ate her dinner in angry silence and retreated to her tent. Tears threatened even as she closed the tent flap behind her.

She felt trapped. Trapped and smothered. Anaru and Ash; though for completely different motives, had both taken the choice from her. It was her parents all over again. It seemed as though only her Uncle and Hiram wanted to allow her to choose. Everyone else around her was determined that their choices and opinions were the only right ones. She was so angry and there wasn't anything she could do about it.

Sleep found her eventually, but her rest was far from peaceful. Dreams, as always, plagued her sleep.

"Five more minutes..." Una groaned sleepily as someone shook her shoulder. Cold air flooded her tent, penetrating her warm cocoon of blankets and bed roll.

"Lass!" Bergi's voice said urgently, "Ye need to get up now."

"What time is it?" Una groaned once more, hoping to stall for time. It couldn't be time to rise.

"Lass, Sergeant Emerblade needs ye in the hospital!"

"I found her notes." Rune's distant voice was oddly melancholy. Bergi allowed the canvas to swing shut as the elf continued, "My apologies."

There was a long pause before the battle priest sighed heavily, "So we lost them, did we?"

The young woman's sleep-fogged mind was both irritated, confused, and a little overwhelmed by the sudden activity. "What?"

"Sorry to wake you, Private." Rune said in that maddeningly cheerful, mild tone of his. "I couldn't find your notes. Please, go back to sleep."

"Lost who?" Sleep was rapidly fleeing before the fresh rush of anger and dread. Una's heart was starting to pound in her chest. Cold bit into her bare arms and feet as she scrambled from the warm comfort of her tent.

The men looked exhausted and crestfallen. Rune was disheveled, looking as though he'd been pulled from sleep himself.

"The poison victims, lass." Bergi sighed.

Una shook her head and said lamely, "They were stable when I left…" No, it was very possible. She had deteriorated rapidly within a few hours. "When?"

"The last perished a few minutes ago." Rune said faintly. He unenthusiastically stroked a lock of oddly curled hair to straighten it.

Una helplessly glanced around the camp. In the time she'd slept, everyone had left on his or her various duties.

"Did we ever figure out what it was?" Bergi prompted, motioning to the Sin'dorei for more information.

"When I left, Frost was on his way to check in with Finklestein." Rune answered, taking a seat near the fire. He leaned forward, propping his elbow against his knee, and resting his face upon his hand. "Sergeant Major Casey is to oversee the autopsies."

"Damn." Bergi spat with contempt. He paused, looking at her feet. His eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Lass! Put some boots on before you freeze!"

Una complied, sitting back inside her tent to slide thick socks and then her boots over her chilled feet. She knew she'd lose patients here, that wasn't the issue. Rather, it was the sting of another failure. Anaru would be livid.

"I screwed up again." Una sighed heavily, pulling her blanket over her shoulders.

"Private, unless, perhaps, you poisoned them yourself, you are not responsible for all ills that befall this world." Rune growled in irritation, shifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Una rested her hands upon her ankles and cast her gaze at the ground, "I guess you didn't hear about the Death Knight?"

"Oh, I heard." Rune said sardonically, his voice taking on a feigned cheerful tone. "Because it just makes perfect sense to place someone traumatized by a Death Knight in close quarters with one."

They fell into silence. The chill wind moaned, cutting through the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Una shrugged the blanket off and began to put her armor back on.

"Well, time to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps." Bergi announced tiredly. "Shall we say a wee prayer?"

"Of course." Rune said, rising with a faint grunt. "Let us give her a moment to finish."

Una gathered up her mace and shield and crawled from the tent.

She took her place next to the two other healers, her voice mechanically reciting the prayers for the lost soldiers. However, the words rang hollow and trite. Words that at one point would have given her mind and heart comfort only made her feel all the more adrift. Una hadn't even gone to mass since before she went on the ill-fated journey north. It occurred to her that she hadn't even so much as prayed. Moreover, she never even missed it.

"So where are you off to, lass?" Bergi asked gently when they finished, his kindly face a portrait of concern.

"Your shift doesn't begin for another few hours." Rune added as he took his seat once again, "You should rest while you can."

"To find answers, Sir." Una answered. It was truthful enough. She intended to find answers to some questions she had; it was their fault if they assumed the wrong subject matter. "I don't like being in the dark."

"Would you like me to go with?" Bergi asked with irritating sincerity.

"Sure, why not. Everyone else seems to think I'm a buffle-brained little girl." Una retorted sarcastically. She knew she was being insubordinate, but she didn't really care.

Rune hung his head suddenly as though stunned before sitting back up. He gazed at her tiredly, "You have every right to be angry, but please choose your words carefully outside the three of us."

"I'm sorry if you took that wrong." Bergi said apologetically. "We're just in troll lands and I thought –"

"I know!" Una snapped and then took a deep breath, repeating herself more softly, "I know. I just… I can't deal with this right now. Look, I…" Una heaved a heavy sigh as Bergi's face fell, "Just forget about it."

"Una!" Rune rose and crossed the distance between them in swift, confident strides. For a moment, she thought he might embrace her as he'd often done before they left Silvermoon. He seemed to think better of it and simply laid a hand on her shoulder instead, "Be careful."

She knew there was more he wanted to say, but he wasn't going to say it. Una nodded once more and shrugged out from under his hand. The elf turned her back to the men and strode away.

Una had plenty of time to talk to Landon before she had to report back to the hospital, but she should also go talk to Finklestein so she'd have a plausible excuse. She also wanted to have more time to rest before she went in too.

A sense of angry purpose dominated her mind. It chased away the storm of dangerous emotions that robbed her of her ability to think. She could act on this anger, which kept the tears from flowing. Hadn't they figured out she wasn't helpless? No, they wouldn't see this coming. Of that, Una was confident.

"No more." The thoughts erupted from her lips unexpectedly but it felt good.

Her eyes fell on Domhnall's siege engine. The moment the keys had been turned over to the dwarf, he had rarely been away from the machine longer than it took to relieve himself. Even relaxing, he often perched atop it like some kind of bearded hawk. There might be a chance he knew where Landon had gone.

Even now, she could see him working at the top of the steam-powered machine, checking and rechecking the massive gun emplacement.

She jogged over to the tank.

"Dom!" Una called up to the engineer. The roar of the engines nearly drowned her voice entirely out and she had to call up to the dwarf repeatedly until she got his attention.

Domhnall held a hand up to his ear, "What?"

"Where's Frost?" Una yelled to him.

"What?"

"Where's Frost?" She repeated, putting all her might into the yell as her frustration grew. This may not have been the best idea.

"What?"

"Frost!" Una bellowed, fighting to keep her voice low and not pitch it too shrilly.

"Aye?"

"Where is he?" Una called, but the racket of a power tool drowned her voice out completely.

Dom held a finger up to her to ask her to wait and poked his head down the hatch. Mountainhand bellowed down into the machine while drawing his fingers across his throat to signal them to cut the tool, "Which?"

"Frost!" Una repeated a final time. If she couldn't get an answer, she'd have to find someone else to ask. "Where is Frost?"

The former marine gave an exaggerated shrug before bellowing, "Below!" He pointed down to the ruins of the former troll village.

Una grimaced and called her thanks to the engineer. The village was the last place she wanted to go. She didn't want to face the aftermath of the culling; however, it made sense Frost would be down there searching for clues. The poisons may have been concocted down there. If he could find more poison or even some in the process of being made, they'd better understand what they had to do to formulate an antidote.

The High Elf gazed dispassionately at the top of the stairs and briefly tossed around the idea of getting Vesper. It would be easy going down the steps, but going back up them would be another matter. Her stamina had mostly recovered, but she knew she'd rediscover her limits climbing the stairs.

Thick, black smoke rose in dense clouds and blocked out the wan sunlight that filtered past the edge of the clouds overhead. It would be bad enough she'd have to breathe that in, she decided against subjecting her charger to it too. Not when there was a real likelihood of him dying up here during this campaign.

Halfway down the stairs, she made a realization. The teams working on clearing the corpses were solidly Ebon Blade. There wasn't a gray tabard or doublet to be seen; not a single shred of white or silver armor. It was a sea of ominous, black armor and undead minions.

Una grimaced and nearly turned back around. No, she had to find Landon. If she waited, she might never get another chance to speak with him alone.

He'd been wearing his chain mail last time she saw him. Not that his dull, pewter-colored armor would stand out any better but it would be a color difference. She went from one side of the step to the other, trying to spot anyone or anything out of place.

There was a glimmer in a small courtyard to the north. Death Knights didn't _glimmer_. Una bounced on the tips of her toes, trying to get a better glimpse of the figure between the smoke and pine boughs.

It looked kind of like a human in loose chainmail.

"Bingo!" Una said to herself in victory. She looked both ways and then over the ledge. The pavers were still a good twenty, maybe thirty feet below her.

There was no one nearby to say "no" and no one to chide her for being reckless.

The High Elf climbed up onto the ledge, swinging one leg and then the other over the ornamental stonework. She licked her lips as she tried to gauge her distance. She could do this. All she had to do was miss six inches of stonework and she'd land safely at the bottom.

Una jumped.

Wind whistled past her ears. She cried out for the Light. A shield of holy energy enveloped her. Pavers littered with pine needles rushed towards her. Her feet and then hands stung slightly as she landed.

Una fought not to laugh; giddy from the rush of adrenaline and the successful gamble. Dusting pine needles from her hands and knees, she spun and looked above her head at where she'd been seconds before. "What a rush!" she whispered to herself in elation.

Now that she was down, she looked around herself. There were no undead nearby. Good. Una intended to keep it that way. She picked her way along the wall, far away from the undead creatures milling around the village like a locust swarm.

Her nerves nearly failed her as she entered the courtyard. It was indeed Landon and he looked busy.

"Hey," Una greeted the paladin faintly. Light, there were so many Death Knights down here. The young woman cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder.

"Oh, hey!" He replied before she could turn back around. "What's up?"

Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Everything down here seemed to echo. The sounds of the Death Knights working, the clatter of bone and steel of their unliving minions all seemed to have a certain echo to them. Una didn't want to think too much on even how her own voice echoed. It made her nervous to the point she was fighting the urge to keep looking over her shoulder.

"I don't know where to start," Una sighed, "I'm having a problem with my platoon."

"Well, best place to start is at the beginning." Frost grunted, stepping on a stout branch and bending it towards himself to break it. "Unless you're my brother; then you start the story in the middle."

In spite of her exhaustion and anxiety, Una giggled. No wonder everyone enjoyed talking with Frost. "Don't you just love family?"

"Aye! There are times the urge to hug and strangle are one in the same." The paladin lashed his broken branch to what Una realized was a pyre. Perhaps for a fallen soldier?

Una cast her gaze to the ground, half fearing his rejection, and began to recount her difficulties since making landfall. She tried not to spare any details, from Anaru and Ash's over protectiveness, to her difficulties with Cole Donovan, and Hakander's sudden aloofness.

Landon remained mostly silent as he continued working on the pyre, though he nodded and made noises to indicate he was listening as Una continued. Emboldened, Una even went so far as to breach the topic of Ash's infatuation with her.

There was a tickle in her throat. Una cleared her throat and tried to continue speaking, "I'm so afraid Anaru is going to send me home." She fought to continue as the urge to cough grew until she could no longer resist. Once started, she coughed until she could hardly breathe.

"You okay?"

Una nodded, sucked in a deep breath, and croaked the words to a healing spell. As the warm energy washed through her lungs, the coughing finally subsided.

"You should go," The human said as Una caught her breath. "This is no place for the living.

"What about you?" Una asked, disturbed by the idea that Landon would tell her to go but risk himself.

The human glanced over his shoulder at her. Icy blue fire burned where his eyes should be.

"Landon?" Una stammered. She'd just seen him earlier! He couldn't have died and been turned so fast! The Scourge couldn't have!

"Leland." The unliving knight corrected, "Landon's brother." He chuckled the humorless, dead laugh of the Scourge. "We're twins, so we get that all the time. Nice to meet you…" He stepped forward, his palm outstretched.

"Stay away from me!" Una snarled, stepping back from him and settling into a defensive stance.

"Okay," the undead thing said with hands held up as though in surrender. "I won't hurt you. Just breathe…"

"Like that's ever stopped you monsters!" Una snarled as the knight slowly backed away from her. It was a ruse! Every time it was a ruse!

He stayed like that for a long moment, his hands held up where she could see them. "You must have really been though something."

"Your kind is all alike!" Una exclaimed, her voice coming out in almost a moan.

"I won't even come close." Ashen hands slowly lowered and undid his belt. He allowed it to fall to the pavers and he shoved it away with the toe of his boot. The straps across his chest and the sword fastened to them joined it a moment later. "I know, you're –"

"You know nothing!" She snapped.

"You're right. I don't." Landon Frost's brother said with an impossible gentleness. "I bet you're a Whitebrook, though. You look like Andris."

"Shut up!" Una howled.

"Whatever you're going through, they're about as tough as they come. You'll be just fine." Those hands beckoned her to lower her mace, "Let's both take a deep breath. You're in control."

Despite not wanting to obey, Una took that deep breath. Leland Frost had lowered his hands and was regarding her calmly. Slowly, he turned his back to her and made his way back to his pile of branches.

Una's gaze fell upon a worn blanket off to the side. It wasn't a sight she hadn't seen before, but the form beneath it was heartbreakingly, frighteningly small. She strafed carefully over until she could lift the edge of the blanket with the tip of her boot.

It was a baby.

Not just any baby. It was the child she'd seen earlier, perched on her mother's hip and playing with her necklace.

"Light damn you!" Una screamed in anger and horror. "How could you?"

"They were following orders," said the unliving monster before her, standing up straight to look at her. There was a branch in his hand. Una could easily envision it as a makeshift weapon. "Trust me..."

"Like a baby was a threat!" Una snarled, holding her mace and shield in anticipation of attack. He would surely attack her now, just as her Great Uncle did and just like the Death Knight from before. "Spare me! Lie to yourself if you wish but this was murder!"

"No. This is what Arthas has reduced us to." The Death Knight replied quietly, "To break his flow of fresh troops, we must... cull... those tainted before they turn."

"'_Cull?'_" Una echoed, "Like they were little more than nuisance animals? Like they're less than living beings with every right _to_ live?"

The monster with Landon's face sighed and cast his malevolent, blazing gaze to the eternally stormy sky overhead. He stayed like that for a time, as though searching for the answer among the boiling clouds.

"Yeah," Leland Frost said with resignation at last before lashing that final branch in place with a bit of frayed and worn rope. "Exactly like that."

Una stared at him in horror, her lip curling in disgust. She dropped to her knees to see if she could at least tell how the child died.

"I already checked." He didn't move from his spot; didn't come to crouch beside her; didn't so much as move. "She didn't suffer. Whoever did it made sure of that."

Touch and magic confirmed what he said was true. The baby had died so fast, she likely never knew what happened. One moment she was alive and sick; the next on her way to whatever afterlife the trolls believed in.

Una traced the child's cheek a gloved finger. Troll or not, Drakkari or not; it shouldn't have ended like this.

"It's time." The Death Knight said suddenly.

Una looked up from the troll baby. The dead Frost brother had turned around to face her, but didn't approach. He nodded to the tiny corpse.

Una cautiously backed off, never turning her back on the unliving knight. He lifted the tiny body, tenderly cradling the baby as though she were still alive. Unease once again washed through her.

Stones crunched and leather creaked as Leland turned his back on her and slowly walked back to platform of branches. After carefully laying the baby upon the pyre, he knelt and stayed like that for a long time.

"I couldn't handle seeing her laying there." His voice was so soft; it didn't seem possible it was coming from a Death Knight. "Discarded like a piece of trash. It was disgusting."

He drew his flint and steel from a pouch on his belt and regarded them for several long moments. "A part of me reveled in it." The dead paladin struck the flint hard, far harder than he needed to, "And this is what Arthas has reduced me to."

It almost sounded like he was _disgusted_? _Remorseful_? Una shook her head. No, that couldn't be possible. Death Knights were the Scourge's greatest weapon.

Landon's brother struck it again, his face lost in his own dark thoughts. What memory had their exchange brought to the surface? The way Cornelia had spoken, he sounded anything but the type to brood…

No, no, no! Una shook her head. Death Knights were monsters. They murdered countless people in their service to the Lich King. Their assistance here was a ruse, nothing more than that. They'd betray them to their dark master once they were to the point of no return.

The wind changed direction and thick, acrid smoke started to fill the courtyard. It carried with it the reek of roasting flesh, sickness, and death. The young elf woman felt the tickle return and she started to cough.

"Go." Leland told her without turning around. "Before you hurt yourself."

Una took one, final look at the Death Knight. He was trying once more to light the pyre. The young paladin nearly walked away; nearly left him to his task of lighting the pyre with sparks too cool to set the tinder ablaze.

The decision was made so fast, it caught her by surprise as a tiny bolt of holy fire leaped from her outstretched fingertips and sailed in a neat arc into the pyre. Within moments, a lazy plume of smoke reached for the heavens.

It would have been so easy for it to strike him instead. Still, Leland Frost didn't move. She heard him mutter his thanks.

The High Elf woman then fled, unable to cope with what she was seeing. As she hurried up the stairs, fires from the burial pits were growing. Massive pits filled with burning trolls. All burning together, save for one baby girl.

Each step grew harder, giving her more and more time to smell, hear, and see those horrible fires. To think on what Leland Frost had told her.

As she neared the top, a lone figure came into view. Massive and bald, an equally massive, square, spiked shield upon the figure's back. A hand, every bit as large as the rest of him was bent, holding something tiny and silver.

Hakander was waiting for her.

Una hung her head, defeated and crestfallen. She braced herself for another dressing down as she trudged up the final stairs.

"Sir." Una greeted, issuing him a weak salute. Her back ached and that final step felt like a huge undertaking. The muscles in her legs twitched and pulsed the way they used to when she was still regaining her strength. Her sinuses had become congested and her voice hoarse from the smoke.

"Private." The Draenei extended his hand to her.

She glanced down at it and back up at the Vindicator in confusion. "Sir?"

"Come. Walk with me." The Draenei's voice was gentle and patient to a fault. Hakander hadn't spoken this much since they made landfall and it was more like the way he used to speak to her.

Una accepted his hand, the other paladin supporting her as she took that final step.

"What were you doing down there?" He asked as she caught her breath.

"Trying to find Warrant Officer Landon Frost, Sir." Una answered dutifully. A surge of fear made her blurt edgily, "What is this about?"

The massive, bald paladin heaved a sigh. "Private, I understand you're considering requesting a transfer to another platoon." Hakander said cautiously. "I'm here to talk you off the ledge."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks again to KooriRoninHeart for proofreading my story and for reminding me to check my thesaurus! Love you, Sis! Thanks to FS and wanderingaddict for your wonderful reviews! It's much appreciated!

**Next Chapter:** Walen hoped to forget what happened in Outland, but it's about to catch up with him.


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